


Oblivion

by AshesOfLauren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Dubcon Kissing, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Romance, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8704345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesOfLauren/pseuds/AshesOfLauren
Summary: Everything was going fine for Draco Malfoy. He was alive, his mother was alive, and that was about all he could dare to hope for. Then the Golden Trio just had to get themselves caught and end up in his home, the Mudblood just had to get herself tortured, and he just had to have some stupid overwhelming desire to stop it. (Canon events up until Harry, Ron, & Hermione's capture at Malfoy Manor.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, SO many thanks to my amazing beta, Claireabellalou, without whom I'd never have had the courage to actually post something I wrote. Shout out and much love to my Tea Room Tribe, who are the most supportive and loving people I've ever known, and my 'Home Away From Hogwarts' and 'Quills & Parchment' peeps. You guys are what make this community so amazing!
> 
> As of today (November 30, 2016) I currently have 8 chapters of this story completed and will be posting them all. Fair warning: I am not a religious updater. However, I solemnly swear this story WILL NOT be abandoned. It's all mapped out, and I know exactly where it's going. So fret not, you will have closure!
> 
> About the story: I put tags for Dubcon Kissing and Threats of Rape/Non-Con. This element only appears once and is relatively mild, but I still wanted to give a heads up. The theme of Anxiety Attacks, however, is very prominent throughout the story, so consider this your warning.
> 
> Last but not least, if this story seems familiar to you, don't worry. I did not steal someone else's work! I do have this story posted on another forum though, and you may have read it there. ;)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.

 

 

 

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 1:**

_I'm not going to puke. I'm not going to puke. I am_ not _going to puke. I am a fucking Malfoy. We are strong. We are elite. We are royalty. We absolutely do not fucking puke from fear or whatever the hell this is. Or_ cry _. What the fuck? I am definitely not going to bloody cry. Or puke. I will stop hyperventilating now. Now!_

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of his king size four poster bed in his elaborate quarters at Malfoy Manor breathing raggedly. One minute he was just sitting, staring blankly at the silver and green striped wall. He didn't even know now what he'd been thinking about, couldn't find one solid thought that had set it off. The next moment he was clawing his chest with shaking hands while fighting for the air that his searching lungs just couldn't seem to find. Of course, that's how it usually happened these days. Randomly. It wasn't quite so spontaneous in the beginning.

When the panic attacks had first started back toward the end of sixth year they'd taken him by surprise, to say the fucking least. The first time it happened was permanently etched in his brain. He'd finally, _finally_ fixed the Merlin forsaken Vanishing Cabinet. It was done. He would live. Well, for now anyway. He'd left the Room of Hidden Things exhausted and trudged down the corridors to the dungeons, following the familiar path to Snape's musty quarters to tell him it was time, and the man had snuck him out of the castle in the wee hours of the morning, long before the sun was due to rise along with the old building's inhabitants. They'd gone to a dark, deserted corner of Hogsmeade and Apparated to a designated landing spot within reasonable walking distance to Malfoy Manor. Snape had spoken not a word on the short trek to the distinguished manor's gates, but Draco was unconcerned. The man had been peeved with him for some time, not that it mattered. Nothing mattered now. He'd completed this part of his task and without his bitter Defense Against the Dark Arts (ha!) teacher's help, mind you. They approached the gates, raising their left arms with sleeves pulled back revealing their Dark Marks, and kept walking straight through the wrought iron bars as if they were nothing more than ghosts or mist. Draco was in good spirits. Well, maybe he wasn't _happy_ exactly, but this was the least shitty he'd felt in he couldn't remember when, which was good for the bloody white peacock strutting across his path. A day ago he'd have sent a killing curse at the animal just for existing and looking happy about it. Now, he simply side stepped around the creature as he watched the heavy front doors of the mansion open. Narcissa Malfoy, looking for all the world as if she were dressed for afternoon tea with Pureblood royalty like herself and not at all as if she were awakened in the dead of night, stepped out onto the grand front porch with its splendid columns. Her blue eyes found Draco's grey ones, and he watched the tension evaporate from her shoulders. She opened her arms for him, and he stepped into his mother's familiar warm embrace. His brows knit together with quiet concern. She was thinner, bonier than the last time they'd seen one another, though her elegant emerald green robes did well at concealing it. Then again, wasn't he as well? Surely the stress he'd been dealing with was equal to that of his mother's.

"My son," Narcissa said with a small, tender smile, cupping his face in her bejeweled hands and placing a kiss lightly on each of his sunken cheeks. "Severus," she said, looking over Draco's shoulder to the greasy black-haired man standing there. "Thank you."

"Your thanks is neither necessary nor warranted, Narcissa," Snape drawled, inclining his head stiffly toward her, his black robes floating in the cool slight breeze wrapping it's way around the porch. He gave Draco a pointed stare, his cold black eyes revealing no hint of emotion. "Young Mister Malfoy here has refused my assistance all year. Nevertheless, it seems the job is done. Is he here?"

"Not yet," said Narcissa. "I thought it only proper that Draco be the one to summon him." She smiled warmly and encouragingly at her only son.

Draco controlled his facial expressions flawlessly but unwillingly cringed on the inside. _Yeah, that's exactly what I want. To touch the fucking monstrosity permanently marking me as one of_ his _and have the nightmare himself show up_ , he thought. _He'll be_ proud _of me! I'll be one of his most trusted, most needed subjects. I could be at his right hand if I pull all this off. I could have real_ power, he warred with himself, disgusted that his thoughts had ever strayed anywhere but to his loyalty for the Dark Lord. Of course, it's not like there were any other choice anyway. Of course he had to come. Of course Draco would be expected to summon him. Of course.

Narcissa stepped back from the doorway and swept her arm out in invitation for the two men who entered the grand foyer. The crystal chandelier glowing with its many candles overhead cast beautiful rainbows of light across the vast entrance. The three of them continued through to the magnificent drawing room. Draco's stomach clenched at the sight of his father fidgeting excitedly in front of the fireplace and his aunt lounging non-too-ladylike in a wingback armchair, legs draped over one side, wand twirling between her fingers.

"Draco!" his father exclaimed, crossing the room in long, quick strides to place his leather-gloved hands on either side of his son's face. "My boy! I knew it. I knew you could make me proud!" Lucius Malfoy smiled triumphantly at his son. Draco didn't even attempt to smile back. Instead he focused his attention on not flinching away from his father's touch. It was much easier said than done. He mentally chastised himself for his reaction.

"Now, now, dear Lucius, let's not get ahead of ourselves," came the spine tingling voice of the witch sprawled across the armchair. Draco's aunt Bellatrix Lestrange leapt up and bounded across the room, standing on her tip toes to get nose to nose with him and saying in a sing-song, mocking voice, "We've still gots to see if wittle Draco can weally get us in his wittle school!" Her too sweet – the sickening sweet smell of rotting things - breath wafted across Draco's face. She spun, cackling, wild black hair flying, and danced across the room, arms over her head like a schoolgirl singing, "Call him! Call him! Call him!"

Draco looked to his mother who nodded her approval. Taking a deep and, damn it, ragged breath, Draco lifted his left arm out in front of him and pressed the Dark Mark there with the forefinger of his right hand. Instantly he felt the all too familiar fire burning through his forearm that signaled the Dark Lord's approach. _I can't believe I've fucking gotten myself into this,_ he thought for the thousandth time _. I will make the Dark Lord proud_ , he smugly thought as well. The two feelings were constantly battling one another, one waning, one waxing, back and forth. He collected himself, making sure the expressions on his pale face were composed, just as Voldemort appeared in their midst in a cloud of black smoke.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix breathed. She was instantly on her knees and practically licking his dirty, boney bare feet. Draco barely suppressed a snort at her obnoxious obsession. He was torn between the unwanted need to shake with the repressed terror he felt anytime the man - if you could really call him that - was near and the awe he felt in his presence. He simply bowed his blonde head slightly and said in unison with the others in the room a solemn, "My Lord."

Voldemort, ever the proud leader, beamed at his loyal followers. He distractedly patted Bellatrix on the top of her head, a gesture which sent the woman into a whimpering fit as if he'd kissed her full on the mouth. She didn't seem to notice that all his attention was on Draco. The powerful wizard drew close to him, a triumphant smile on his snakelike face. "Draco," he hissed. "My son." Draco recoiled at the term coming from him, yet he was simultaneously proud to be called his son. Voldemort didn't seem to notice his reaction either way. "Is it true, child? Is it time? Have you finally completed this first part of your task?" he rasped.

"Yes," Draco answered. He didn't trust his voice to speak more than the one word. Apparently he couldn't be sure what tone would come out these days. His father would be horrified if his son's voice dared to sound anything more reverent.

Voldemort's faced split into an even wider monstrous grin. "Well done, Draco! Well done! Severus, did he manage this feat all on his own? Surely he must have leaned on your guidance, no?" he asked.

"Not at all, my Lord," Snape replied. "Draco was determined to please you of his own accord and therefore refused to reveal his plan to me until tonight when he had finished his… project."

"Ha ha! That's my boy," Voldemort enthused and clutched his shoulder with a grip like a viper's bite, causing Draco to involuntarily wince. _Pull yourself together, idiot._ "Come, Draco. Let us sit and hear your plan over a cup of tea, shall we?" Voldemort invited, as if there were the option to decline. There wasn't, of course, so Draco nodded and took a seat on the ivory sofa. His merciful leader took the armchair at the head of the room. "Now, tell me everything," he demanded.

_It's okay_ , Draco reminded himself. _It's done. He's happy. He's proud. I'm safe. My mother is safe. For now, at least, we're safe. He'll value me now. My family will have a true seat of power again. It'll work. It has to work._

Draco told the small crowd about the previously smashed Vanishing Cabinet he'd been working every available hour to fix, forgoing sleep and nourishment - not that he went into that detail as his mother would just be more worried and the others wouldn't care and he'd just sound as if he were complaining. He told them how its twin resided in Borgin and Burkes'. Together they set a date and made a plan to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Together they plotted the next step, the most crucial step, in what was essentially Draco's initiation into the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord's service: the murder of Albus Dumbledore. _Don't think about it,_ Draco told himself. _Don't feel any bloody damn guilt. Focus. The old git has to die. Focus on your safety. On Mother's safety. He's chosen you for this. This is your moment. Be glad. Tonight, you've accomplished something. Tonight you've bought yourself a shred of respect, and, more importantly, you've bought yourself time._

_If only it had been that simple_ , he thought now. But nothing ever was. The appointed date and time had come, and Dolohov had stepped into the cabinet in Borgin and Burkes' first. The echoing scream the rest of the assembled Death Eaters had heard coming from its depths let them know that something was not quite as it should be. Draco and Snape had waited by the other cabinet in the Room of Requirement, but nothing happened. An hour after the agreed upon time was when Draco had first felt the tightening in his chest. Where were they? Thirty minutes after that his Mark had burned, and he knew. That was when he'd first lost the ability to breathe.

Sure, he'd had breakdowns before, namely while trying to repair the damn cabinet and hitting dead ends, believing he'd run out of time and he and his family would be killed. The realization that he had been wrong, however, that it wasn't fixed, that he had called the Dark Lord and failed, that was what sent him over the edge into a full blown panic attack.

So the cabinet hadn't quite been fixed, and Dolohov had spiraled around in the middle of nothing and everything at the same time for close to a month before he was recovered. Oh, had Draco paid at the hands of the Dark Lord for that mistake. He glanced down at his chest and stomach now and pictured the scars underneath his white button up shirt. He hadn't even known the Cruciatus Curse could leave scars before then. Apparently, after a certain degree, all torture leaves its mark. He'd fixed the cabinet properly in time, but it did little to redeem him in the eyes of the Dark Lord. His mistake with the cabinet coupled with his failure to kill Dumbledore himself added up to put the Malfoy family no longer at the top of Voldemort's list of favorite people. (Of course Snape was at the very top of the fucking list for successfully killing the old wizard.) Panic attacks had become the norm after that anytime the Dark Lord was in his presence. He was usually able to just hold it together until they'd parted ways and he was alone, but he inevitably always broke down. It was pathetic and weak and not at all becoming of a Malfoy, but there was little he seemed to be able to do about it.

This time, however, Voldemort was nowhere in sight and hadn't been for several days. Nevertheless, there Draco sat on his bed clutching at his bloody fucking heart, trying to keep it from popping straight out of his chest. He contemplated going into the lavatory and raiding the shelves for a vial of Calming Draught, but he wasn't ready to admit that defeat just yet. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._ His heart continued to race, and his vision was becoming blurry. _In. Out. In. Out._ He was slipping out of consciousness in earnest now. Just as he decided, _Fuck it, just let the darkness come_ , he heard an excited call of, "Draco!" from down below. Resigned and more than a little disappointed to no longer be allowed to black out in peace, Draco took a few more ragged breaths and heaved himself off of his bed. He stumbled into the loo and, knocking over several bottles in his search, found the Calming Draught, popped the cork with clumsy hands, put the bottle to his numb lips, and drained it in one gulp. By the time he took the few steps to reach his bedroom door the effect of the potion had already come over him. His breathing was regular, his heartbeat was steady, and his cheeks were no longer flushed. The only evidences left of his episode were a faint sheen of sweat and unkempt hair which he smoothed as he trudged down the staircase. He was supremely disappointed and disgusted with himself for having to resort to using the potion, but as he rounded the corner into the drawing room and saw the three "guests" in it, he thought that maybe it was for the best. After all, he'd have never been able to control his unexpected reaction to seeing the three people Voldemort wanted most without it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 2:**

Draco only faltered for a moment upon seeing the trio, but he was almost certain none of the witches or wizards present had noticed as they were all very intent on studying the swollen face of a black haired young man. That one moment was all he needed to set his face into a controlled expression, so practiced was he at hiding his emotions. The black haired man looked up with the one eye that was not swollen shut and zeroed in on Draco's face. _You've got to be fucking kidding me_ , he thought. Draco made no show of recognition though. "You called, Aunt Bellatrix?" was all he said. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy's heads jerked up at the sound of their son's voice, and Lucius all but ran to him, smiling a smug, self-satisfied smile.

"Yes, Draco, come! Quickly! We believe it's Potter and his blood traitor and filthy Mudblood friends!" Bellatrix was beside herself with delight.

Lucius tried to take his arm to lead him, but Draco casually maneuvered out of his grasp and strode slowly over to examine the prisoners, his demeanor giving nothing away. Someone - Granger, no doubt - had done what appeared to be a hasty job at disguising them all. The taller boy's hair was now also jet black, but shoulder length with a mess of curls where it once was short, straight, and fiery red. He had a full beard that covered the majority of his face and reached his chest, but there was no mistaking the eyes currently looking at him with loathing. Those were definitely Weasley's eyes. The young woman was sporting a short, white-blonde bob as opposed to her usual mane of bushy brown locks. The eyes pleading with him were also blue instead of their normal chocolate brown, but oh, those were definitely Granger's cheekbones and her mouth, currently quivering with fear. _Why would I recognize her fucking mouth?_ Draco pushed the thought aside as he ambled over to where the main attraction knelt on the great rug, Bellatrix's wand at his throat. Clearly time had run out to do a proper disguise on him, and the girl had shot a stinging hex of sorts at him. The skin was stretched to the point of nearly bursting, so engorged was his face. His features were almost all unrecognizable. Almost. The one green eye studying Draco's face and the stretched, disfigured mark on his forehead left little doubt as to who it was, though. Draco stared into that one eye for a time before finally tearing his gaze away. _It's him. They've caught him. The Dark Lord will rejoice and sing my family's praises_ , he thought with vicious hunger. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,_ came the small, quiet voice in the back of his head. He chose to ignore it.

"Well?" Bellatrix breathed. "Is it him?" Her chest was heaving with the excitement.

_I don't want to do this._ The thought came unbidden and unexpected. Why? Draco certainly had no love lost for Potter or his idiot friends. He opened his mouth to say "yes".

"I can't be sure," he heard himself hedge instead.

"Yes, you can! Come closer! Look!" Bellatrix commanded, but Draco didn't want to look anymore, didn't want to see them here, didn't want to turn them in, didn't want to _not_ turn them in.

"Draco." His mother's soft voice interrupted his rising panic. "Take your time, love. Focus. Clear your mind and think."

He tried. He looked to his father, to the man who was never quite pleased with him, to the man whose approval he sought, craved, needed, and yet feared. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, maybe to say "yes", maybe to say "no", even he wasn't completely sure, but the words never left his throat.

" _Where did you get that?"_ Bellatrix's voice was a deadly whisper that made the hairs on Draco's arms stand. She was staring with wide eyes at the bag slung over the shoulder of a Snatcher who was present. Until then Draco hadn't even noticed their presence.

"Found it in their tent when we raided it," the man said, running his hand down the hilt of a rather magnificent sword. "Reckon it's mine now," the man replied cockily with a half grin. His smirk didn't last too long as Draco's aunt erupted into cries of, "Stupefy!", "Expelliarmus!", and all other manner of curses, hexes, and jinxes. The witch easily took down all six of the Snatchers without so much as breaking a sweat.

"Bella, what is it?" Narcissa asked worriedly.

"That sword," Bellatrix replied, and Draco was shocked to hear the panic in her voice. "It's in my vault. It's supposed to be in my vault. SOMEONE'S BEEN IN MY VAULT!" she screamed, looking quite deranged with spit flying from her mouth. "YOU!" She whirled on the female prisoner that could only be Hermione. "Where did you get that sword? WHERE?!"

"W-we found it," the now blonde girl said shakily. "In the w-woods."

"LIAR!" Bellatrix shrieked. "You've been inside my vault, haven't you? HAVEN'T YOU?!"

"No! We haven't! I swear!" she cried. Draco's heart sunk - _why?_ \- as he watched the short, blonde bob on the girl's head quickly start to grow longer and darken in color. Her eyes widened at the realization, and they locked on his as they changed back from icy blue to chocolate brown. Bellatrix looked around wildly to see the black hair turn to red and the beard disappear, showing Weasley's face once more. There was hushed silence in the room as all eyes locked on the prisoner on his knees, as the swelling gradually went down from his face, as the second green eye became visible again, as the scar settled back into the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead.

"It's him," Lucius said with smug delight and raised his left arm, pulling back his sleeve in the process.

"No!" Bellatrix cried and sent a full-body binding curse at her brother-in-law. Draco watched in joint horror and sick pleasure as his father went rigid, falling straight over backward, knocking his head on the mantelpiece on the way down.

"Bella! Have you lost your mind? You just hexed my husband! In our own house!" Narcissa cried.

"Cissy, if we call the Dark Lord now we all will surely perish!" Bellatrix screamed. "I have to know. I have to know for certain what we're dealing with."

"What are you talking about?" Narcissa asked quietly.

"The Dark Lord put certain items in my vault at Gringotts for protection, this sword among them," she explained shakily. "If this is, indeed, the real sword, then that means these little wretches have been in my vault and may have taken the other belongings. If the Dark Lord were to know this, he'd smite us all in his fury," she whispered with absolute terror in her eyes.

Draco had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Unbelievably, this evening was clearly about to get worse. He looked down at his father who had been conscious for this revelation despite bashing his head on the marble fireplace. Bellatrix reversed the hex on him, and he got shakily to his knees, putting a hand on the back of his head and pulling it back red and sticky with blood. The look in his eyes clearly said how much he'd love to kill Bellatrix right then and there but also how he doubted his own ability to do so. "You two," she barked to Draco and his father, "bring the boys to the dungeon. The Mudblood and I need to have a little chat."

Lucius face reddened with indignity. "You dare tell me what to do in my own-"

"Now!" Bellatrix screeched. "There's no time to give a rat's arse whose house it is! There's no time to coddle you fucking pride, Lucius! Go! Now!"

Lucius seemed to think better of retorting and instead started to try to regain his feet. Draco sighed and unwillingly went over to his father to pull him up and steady him. When he'd mostly regained his balance, they went to seize the prisoners and their wands from Bellatrix, Lucius grabbing Weasley by the arm and Draco holding Potter's. They forced the two boys away from their female companion and down the steep stairs to the level below. The father and son deposited the pair into the cellar along with Merlin-knows-who-else Bellatrix had stashed down there. Of course, his parents probably knew, but Draco found it much easier to get by without knowing who was living and dying in his home. There was definitely a lot of dying. Not that that particularly bothered him, but he couldn't help but wonder every time he saw someone drop dead on the flawless wood floors where he'd spent his childhood playing with miniature Quidditch figurines, watching them zoom back and forth inches off the ground and cheering for his favorite Seeker, if he or his mother would be the next to fall with a thud and never get back up. _Stop_ , he ordered himself as Lucius finished putting all of the confinement enchantments on the cellar door.

They turned to start their way up the steps, Draco standing slightly behind his still dizzy father lest he lose his balance and Draco have to catch him, when he heard the first blood curdling scream. He froze. His body, his mind, his breath, his very blood froze at the sound. He was vaguely aware of Weasley screaming Hermione's name and pounding on the cellar door. His father was four steps up before he realized Draco was no longer right behind him. "Draco," he snapped. "What are you doing? Draco. Draco!"

Draco snapped his attention to the man before him while trying desperately to breathe and make sense of his reaction to the sound of Hermione's torture and figure out how to stop it and figure out _why_ he wanted to stop it and keep everyone from _knowing_ he wanted to, _had_ to stop it and-

"Draco! What the hell are you doing, son?" Lucius asked impatiently.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying with all he had to keep his voice level and calm while inside he was a mess of confused and conflicting thoughts and emotions. "I just had a thought. I was… trying to figure out how else they could have gotten the sword, that's all," he lied not altogether smoothly but still, rather efficiently. He had to focus. Had to relax. Had to breathe _. Fucking breathe, damn it. Like you haven't heard people be tortured before? Like you haven't heard women be tortured before? Like you haven't been the one to do it?_

"Do not LIE to me!" growled the enraged voice of Bellatrix. Another more desperate, more terrified, more pained scream followed the first, and Draco was sweating, he was hyperventilating, he was altogether losing his fucking shit. He'd made it to the top of the stairs and joined his father, and he had no idea what to do. He felt desperate and helpless and utterly lost, and he didn't have a single fucking clue as to why.

"The goblin! Bring me the fucking goblin!" Bellatrix screeched, and Draco formed a half-ass plan and clung to it like a life raft. He didn't so much as glance at Hermione sprawled on the living room floor before bolting back down the steps, new shrieks of pain following him, making him break into a near sprint. He took the wards down from the cellar door and pointed his wand inside. "Get back!" he yelled. "Don't move or I'll curse your heads off. Goblin, come forward. Now!" The goblin Griphook warily eased his way forward, and Draco grabbed him by the collar of his filthy once white button-up shirt and dragged him through the doorway. Draco's eyes met Potter's for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and closed the door behind him, dragging the goblin up the steps.

He hadn't put the wards back up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 3:**

"The goblin, Aunt Bellatrix," Draco announced, his voice surprisingly calm considering the shit storm that was his nerves at the moment. His aunt was straddled on top of Hermione on the floor, silver dagger in hand, carving into the girl's arm. Draco tasted bile in his throat at the sight. _What the fuck? What the actual fuck? It's not like you haven't seen her cut up someone before._ His aunt looked up, Hermione whimpering softly underneath her weight, her dirty blood pooling on the antique rug and soiling it.

"Excellent," she breathed. She hauled herself off of Hermione who didn't even try to move and slowly stalked toward the goblin. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and you are not going to lie to me, now are you?"

"Of course not, miss," Griphook replied, his beetle-like eyes watching her advance warily.

"Good." Bellatrix's hand whipped out like a snake striking and grabbed the small, feral looking creature by the scruff of his neck. She dragged him over to where the sword stood, leaning up against the mantelpiece now. "I want you to examine this sword. I want you to tell me if it is genuine or a fake. I want you to be damned sure. And goblin, you do _not_ want to lie to me."

"Of course not, miss," he repeated, his black eyes devoid of any emotion.

Griphook gestured toward the sword to be sure he had the witch's approval before touching it. She gave a curt nod, and he slowly picked it up by its ruby encrusted hilt, gently running the blade along his palm. Time seemed to drag as the goblin touched it, caressed it, tasted it. All eyes were on him, save the witch currently bleeding on the floor and seemingly fighting for consciousness in Draco's peripheral vision. _Come on, come on, come on,_ he thought, shocking himself not for the first time today. What he was waiting for, hoping for, he wasn't even sure. Or at least that was what he was telling himself. His eyes widened and his shoulders stiffened as the goblin looked up into the eyes of Bellatrix and took a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak. For the second time today there was a convenient distraction just as she was about to get her answer.

_CRASH!_ The sound of shattering porcelain echoed in the hushed room startling everyone present. All heads whipped around to see Lucius crumple to the ground with yet another bleeding head wound and surrounded by the remains of an ancient vase, Ron Weasley's arms still raised from administering the blow, and Lucius' wand in the hands of Harry Potter who was shouting, "EXPELLIARMUS!" at Draco's mad aunt. The skilled witch had exquisite reflexes though and deflected the spell at the last second. Draco watched, frozen, as Weasley darted across the room to Granger's side and Potter dove straight for him and the three wands in his hand: Potter's, Weasley's, and his own. Draco was too stunned to put up much of a fight and practically relinquished the wands to the other boy, though he wasn't quite sure why and knew instantly he'd pay for it later when the Dark Lord found out, probably with his life this time. And he would find out.

" _Crucio_!" Bellatrix cried, slashing her wand through the air in Potter's direction and just missing as he dived behind Draco. The curse hit him full in the chest, and his body seized up with the pain, knees buckling under him. _Not again. Merlin, not again!_ He wanted to scream, needed to, but his jaw was rigid with the violent onslaught to his entire being. Draco was vaguely aware through the flaying of his bones that Potter had thrown Weasley two wands, and Ron had in turn stunned Draco's mother. All in an instant Weasley rushed to Potter's side with Granger limply thrown over his shoulder and yelling, "Stupefy!" at the goblin while Potter seized the sword that fell from his grip as the small being went flying. Potter and Weasley each pointed the two wands in their hands – Harry with his own and Draco's, Ron with his own and Lucius' – at Bellatrix and simultaneously cried, "EXPELLIARMUS!" The witch's wand flew across the room along with Hermione's which had been tucked in the pocket of Bellatrix's robes, and Draco, who's torture had ended when the disarming spell hit her, caught them in the air with the reflexes of the Quidditch Seeker he was. Weasley grabbed Potter by his shirtsleeve as Harry began to turn on the spot. Hermione's eyes opened to mere slits, instantly finding Draco's, and she reached out a weak hand, grabbing on to his wrist with surprising strength, which was still lifted from catching the two wands, and then he was spinning, too. Draco tore his eyes from her in time to see his aunt's silver dagger flying in their direction while Hermione's arm sprayed filthy blood across the room, and then they vanished.

_FUCK!_ It was his first coherent thought after he had landed hard on his back in the middle of a forest, the wind knocked from his lungs. Draco opened his eyes, and several things happened at once. Ron had either laid Hermione down or dropped her during their landing and found her wand among the leaves and placed it in her near lifeless hand. He was standing side by side with Harry. They each noticed Draco at the same time, eyes widening in shock and raising their wands in unison. "STUP-"

"Protego!" came a faint cry from the ground, and Draco felt the shield charm surround him, guarding him from the assault he was about to endure. It was almost comical, Draco vaguely thought, the way the two men's jaws dropped, heads whipping around to stare at Hermione as if she'd lost her ever loving mind. "No," she whispered softly, eye lids fluttering. It was then that Draco noticed just how pale she was, and he wondered how much blood she'd lost. There was a clenching in his chest at the thought, but he ignored it.

"'Mione, what the hell?" Ron asked looking both bewildered and a little betrayed.

"No," she repeated, now pointing her wand at her two friends.

"Hermione, you're not thinking clearly. That's Malfoy. He's followed us," Harry tried to reason with her, as if he were talking to a small child.

"I know… bloody well… who it is… Harry. I brought him… with us," she breathed, clearly fighting to remain conscious.

"You, WHAT?!" the two Gryffindor men cried, whirling around to face their longtime enemy. But Hermione didn't respond. In fact, she didn't move at all. Her arm had fallen back to the ground, her wand rolling out of her hand. If there was a rise and fall of her chest it was too faint to see from this distance. Draco felt weak, dizzy, faint. He was panicking again. Only, no, he couldn't be. His breathing was regular, but he was certainly losing consciousness and quickly. Again, it was almost comical, almost, the way all three men's eyes simultaneously traveled to Draco's leg, widening slightly at the sight. There was the silver dagger, protruding from his inner thigh. _Well, fuck, all that blood has definitely ruined my dragon hide boots_ , was Draco's last thought before the darkness overtook him.

_"… can't believe you wasted some of the Dittany on that fucking prat. Should have let the fucker bleed to death. It's not like he'd do the same…"_

_"… brought him for a reason, and let's face it, she's much smarter than we are, Ron…"_

_"… wake up? Shouldn't she have woken up by now?"_

_"… find some shelter. If anything happens, send up some red sparks. Don't let your guard down..."_

Draco was floating in and out of consciousness. On the one hand, he wanted to wake up, needed to wake up to make sure he was safe, on his guard, prepared for whatever horror he would inevitably have to face next. On the other hand, the bloody pain was so fucking bad when he did start to rouse that he didn't much have it in him to resist. He let the darkness take him again…

It was dark but beginning to lighten ever so slightly when Draco fully came around; he could feel it. He suspected it was the wee hours of the morning but had no way of being certain. Not that it mattered. He could still feel the hard leaf strewn ground underneath him. He opened his eyes the least amount possible and frowned slightly. Towering over him were more trees than there had been before, providing a thick protective canopy. Obviously he had been moved while he slept. He shut his eyes again and listened. He could hear a crackling sound in front and to the left of him. A fire, obviously, though he certainly could not feel its warmth. The sound of the flame licking logs made him realize just how _cold_ he was.

"Another piece?" a voice asked. Potter.

"Thanks." Weasley. It was quiet for several more seconds except for the sound of the fire and the two men eating. Then, "Are you sure-?"

"Yes, Ron, she's fine. She'll come around when she's ready. It's okay. She's going to be okay. They both are, I think."

"I don't give a fuck about him. I hope he _does_ die, stupid fucking ferrety prat," Ron said with obvious venom.

Draco heard a sigh. "We've been over this. She brought him for a reason. She must know something we don't," Harry tried to reason, though he didn't sound completely convinced himself.

"Or maybe she was just slightly out of her mind because she'd just been tortured by the prat's fucking psychotic aunt!" Ron all but yelled back.

"It doesn't matter. Until she comes around and we can talk to her about it he stays with us, he stays safe, and he stays alive." Harry's tone clearly said it was final. _Huh. Look who's trying to be a big boss._

Draco swallowed hard to speak."In that case, would you mind handing me some water?" His voice came out sounding like sandpaper. The other two started and looked his way as Draco tried to heave himself up. The best he could manage was supporting his weight with his elbows.

"By your head," was all Potter said. Draco craned his neck to the right, and sure enough, there was a tin cup full of water. He stared at it for a few moments trying to figure out how he would be able to sit up to grab it. It seemed a nearly impossible task. _Suck it up, idiot._ He steeled himself and pushed with his forearms as hard as he could against the ground and miraculously managed to hurl himself into a sitting position. He stretched and reached for the cup, bringing it to his lips and gulping it down greedily. He felt as if he hadn't eaten or drank in a week. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Four days," Potter replied not bothering to so much as glance at him while chewing on what appeared to be a piece of fish. _Damn. Well, close enough_ , he thought. He looked around and took in his surroundings. Potter and Weasley were sitting in camp chairs around the fire, a bucket of presumably cooked fish between them, and Hermione was asleep on a small cot beside them, covered to her chin with a thick quilt. A small beaded bag lay on the ground beside her cot. The sky was barely visible through the concealing trees. "I suppose you couldn't have provided us with some decent shelter?" Draco sneered halfheartedly.

"Well, we had a rather nice tent, but your friends confiscated it when they took us prisoner," Harry shot back. _And now the captives have become the captors. How fucking poetic._ He was quiet for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. "Has she come around at all since?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Hermione's sleeping figure.

"What the fuck do you care?" Ron spat, glaring at him. Draco just shrugged his shoulders as if to say "no big deal". He tried to cross his legs and hissed through his teeth at the pain that shot up his left thigh. Ron smirked from his place by the fire. Giving up on trying to get more comfortable, Draco decided it would be more prudent to get _warm._ He rolled himself over onto his knees, gritting his teeth at the utter agony ripping through his leg, and slowly, painstakingly gained his feet. He stood there for a few moments, weak and shaky, to make sure he had his balance, make sure the fire in his leg wasn't going to make him black out again. Finally, slowly, he took a step forward, then another, then another, and then- _SMACK_. He ran face first into an invisible wall. The shock nearly knocked him back on his arse, but he somehow kept his footing. "What the-?"

"You didn't really think we'd just let a Death Eater roam about, did you? Stupid prat." Ron jeered. The fucker was enjoying himself a little too much.

"So, what, I'm just going to sit over here and fucking freeze to death? How exactly does that work into your little plan of keeping me alive and safe until your little Mudblood wakes up?" Draco was pissed off and - not that he'd ever admit it, even to himself – a little scared. Ron was on his feet in an instant, wand drawn.

"Don't you DARE fucking call her that!" he bellowed.

"Stop!" Harry shouted, leaping up and grabbing the other boy's arm. Ron looked at him, chest heaving, and slowly lowered his arm. They both regained their seats, the redhead fuming.

"Tsk, tsk. You do have a nasty temper, eh, Weasel?" Draco drawled, though his heart wasn't really in it – he was just too damn weak. "Might want to work on that," he said as he ungracefully plopped back down on the ground.

"Mmmm.." The pile of bushy hair and blankets by the fire made a soft sound in her sleep. All three males instantly focused all of their attention on her to see if she was coming to, but that was it.

"Well, you two have been lovely company, but I think I'll just rest a while longer," Draco said, and settling back down on the cold, hard earth, he slipped into a fitful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 4:**

_Draco was sitting at one of the round silk-covered tables in his dress robes, sipping a butterbeer and waiting for this damned thing to be over. "I want to go dance!" Pansy Parkinson whined in his ear._

_"Then go dance," he replied, bored and not really paying attention._

_"But you're my date!_ You _are supposed to dance_ with _me. I paid a ton of Galleons for this dress - well, I mean, my father did, but whatever – and you're just sitting here like a bump on a log, and I don't think…" On and on and on she droned until Draco finally slammed his drink down on the table causing butterbeer to slosh over the lip of the bottle, got up and grabbed her arm, dragging her to the dance floor just so he didn't have to listen to her annoying voice any longer. Viktor Krum bumped into him with a quick "excuse me" as he made his way off the dance floor, his date trailing behind him, flushed and grinning from ear to ear. She really did have a nice smile…_

Draco woke with a start. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd been dreaming, but something about the memory of it felt… wrong. It tickled the edges of his brain, but he couldn't bring it into focus. He closed his eyes again to try to bring it back, but it was gone. _It's just a fucking dream. What's it matter?_ He opened his eyes again, raising his hand to block the morning sun, and hauled himself into a sitting position. He was closer to the fire than he'd been when he fell back asleep, so apparently Potter, at least, meant it when he said they had to keep him alive and safe. Draco's nose wrinkled at the thought of fucking Potter being his damned nursemaid, as if he needed saving by the Chosen One. Of course, someone had tended to the wound his aunt had caused while he was out for days. The thought was not pleasant.

The Boy Who Lived was currently sitting in his camp chair beside Granger, who was still asleep, and reading what seemed to be a rather old copy of the _Daily Prophet_. He wondered fleetingly if his disappearance would be mentioned in more recent editions, and then snorted at the thought of a missing persons ad running for the known Death Eater. Sure, the paper may technically be run by Voldemort now, but there were still appearances to be kept. Potter heard the sound and looked up but didn't say anything before going back to his paper. "Where's the Weasel?" Draco asked, simply because he felt like conversation for the time being. Having a chance to piss off Boy Wonder was a plus, too.

"Out," Potter replied. Draco waited, but the man didn't elaborate.

"I suppose I'm still in an invisible box, correct?" he asked.

"Yes." And here he'd always thought Potter would be a talker.

"Well," Draco said, "I haven't got any water in here, and I haven't eaten in days." He waited, but Harry never looked up from his paper. "Anything you'd like to do to help me out with that?" he asked irritably.

After taking a long sip from a mug sitting on the leaf strewn ground beside his chair – _was that coffee? How the fuck did he get coffee?_ – Harry walked over to where Draco sat, carrying the tin cup which was full of water again and a rather sad and soggy looking piece of fish. Without saying a word Harry set them down about one meter in front of Draco and went back to his seat, burying his nose in the _Prophet_ again. Draco leaned forward to grab what looked like a meal fit for a king in his starving eyes. He reached a little farther to see if he could feel his invisible prison wall, and sure enough it started just behind where his breakfast lay. Apparently they could reach in, but he couldn't reach out. Perfect. Now wasn't the time to care about that though as the delicious smell of the charred fish had reached his nose. Draco dove into it greedily, practically inhaling the pitiful meal bones and all. It was the worst fish he'd ever eaten in his entire life, and yet he'd never been happier to see a meal. Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly accustomed to going without eating, and the four days he'd been out had truly weakened him. The single piece of fish had not been nearly enough to stave off his hunger, but he wasn't quite ready to lower himself to begging for seconds just yet. He sipped his water in silence for a while before speaking again.

"So, what's the plan here?" he asked. "Are you going to kill me? No, probably not. Too noble for that. Bloody Gryffindors," he said with an eye roll. "Plus, you'd have done it already. Hmm… Use me as a bargaining tool? That'd be pretty daft. You're no Ravenclaw, but even you have to be smart enough to know the Dark Lord wouldn't trade anything or anyone in exchange for your protection or whatever it is you may want." He managed to sound only slightly bitter at the fact that his life would be considered pretty much worthless by anyone other than his mother, but he recovered his smirk quickly. "Of course, Granger is the one who kidnapped me. Probably just wanted something nice to look at, and who could blame her? She's been stuck in hiding with you and Weasel for company for—"

"Why didn't you tell Bellatrix?" Harry interrupted him without looking up from his paper.

Draco's signature smirk faltered and the shutters closed on his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice completely empty of emotion.

Harry looked him straight in the eye and said, "You didn't tell your aunt it was us at Malfoy Manor. Why?"

Draco met his stare with a cool and expressionless one of his own. "Exactly why I said. I couldn't be sure, and I never call the Dark Lord unless I'm absolutely sure." He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the one and only time he _had_ called him without be absolutely positive. "By the time I _was_ sure, there were other distractions." He met Harry's searching look with one of utter contempt. Harry didn't pursue the subject. He simply started at Draco's face like he was trying to read something written on it. He finally shook his head and opened his mouth to say something else when the girl sleeping by his chair started stirring.

Harry was instantly at her side, holding her hand with one of his and rubbing her arm with the other. "Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?" he asked softly. "Come on, come one, open your eyes," he encouraged her. Draco saw her eyelids flutter open slowly and her grimace as she blinked in the bright morning sun. He ignored the feeling of a weight he didn't even know had been there being lifted off his chest.

"Harry?" Hermione asked in a dry voice.

Harry's face split into a relieved grin. "About time you came around," he said.

"How long wa—" she tried to ask, but her voice caught in her throat.

"Here, hang on," Harry said, and he rushed over to his chair and grabbed his cup of water that had been sitting beside the presumed mug of coffee. He helped Hermione into a sitting position and handed her the cup. She took it and drained it before trying to speak again.

"Thank you," she said. "How long was I out?" she asked as Harry settled himself on the edge of her cot. Her eyes flicked briefly to Draco who was watching her from the ground in his invisible prison before returning her full attention to Potter.

"Five days," he answered her. "Blimey, Hermione, you were really starting to worry me. I've done my best to keep Ron calm, but if you hadn't woken up by this evening we were going to have to get you some help." His shoulders sagged with relief.

"Where is Ron?" she asked, looking around for him as if she'd simply missed him sitting in the small area right in front of her.

"He's gone into a nearby town to try to find us some supplies," he said. Hermione's eyes widened in panic. "Don't worry! He'll be fine. It seems to be just Muggles, and he's got the cl-" Harry cut off his sentence with a glance over his shoulder at Draco. "He's… _covered_ ," he finished.

Hermione looked momentarily confused before understanding hit her. "He knows about the cloak Harry, remember? No need to be cryptic," Hermione said with another glance in Draco's direction.

"He doesn't need to know what we may or may not have with us, Hermione," he said almost too quietly for Draco to hear. "We're lucky the Snatchers didn't take your bag when they searched us." He patted the little beaded bag lying next to them. "Thank Merlin you're always so obsessive over having the essentials packed." Harry gave her an affectionate smile.

"Yes, well, someone has to be the responsible one, and as it's been me since first year I don't see why that should change now." She smiled back at him.

Suddenly there was a voice coming from a few yards away.

" _You think you're quite the wizard, got me under your spell._

_Well guess what Mr. Wizard, you don't know me so well."_

"Erm, Harry, is that Ron singing a Celestina Warbeck song?" Hermione asked with a look of utter confusion.

Harry's grin widened. "Yeah, it's our temporary password. He can't see exactly where we're at, and we needed some way to be sure it was him coming back to us," he said. "Plus, it's just funny as hell." He winked at Hermione who tried and failed to stifle her giggles.

" _You thought you were so clever, but in truth you're a crook._

_And no way you're gettin' away with all the things that you took._

_You stole my cauldron, my favorite black hat._

_Purloined my owl, then flew off like a vampire bat_

_You claimed that you loved me, said we'd never part_

_Then you stole my cauldron, but you can't have my heart."_

"Bloody hell, let him the fuck in already!" Draco said, exasperated. Harry didn't spare him a glance but pulled his wand out and under his breath reversed whichever concealment enchantments he'd put up.

"Ron!" Harry called. "Over here, mate!" Weasley ambled into view with his arms laden with spoils from his raid and a full rucksack slung over his shoulders.

"Bloody hell, I thought I'd have to go on singing that damned song. Stupid thing's going to be stuck in my head for—Hermione!" Ron dropped his burdens on the ground and ran to her side. "You're awake! Are you okay? I've been so worried about you. We've done everything we could to try to wake you up, but nothing worked. We figured you just needed to rest and heal, but I was getting really, really nervous, and I told Harry if you didn't wake up by tonight we'd have to—"

"Ron! Ron, calm down," Hermione said, taking his hand in both of hers. "I'm fine. You did fine. Both of you did." She gave him a reassuring smile. "What have you brought?" she asked, and Draco assumed it was more to keep Weasel from fussing over her again than out of real interest.

Harry walked back toward the cot after replacing his concealment and protective charms, using his wand to levitate the items Ron had brought back with him to where the trio were now sitting.

"I've got us a good bit of canned goods. There were still some in the bag, but I figured we may as well stock up since I was already out. Don't worry," he said at Hermione's disapproving look. "I left some Muggle money every time I took something. Of course, I'm not really sure how it works… I figured 10 pounds per can was good, right?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes bulged. "TEN POUNDS?!" she screeched. Then, "Umm, yes, yes I believe that is sufficient." She seemed to be trying not to giggle again.

Ron was, as usual, unfazed and oblivious. "Good," he said. "I also found several nice quilts and pillows, a couple of changes of clothes for the three of us." He glanced up at Draco to make it perfectly clear that he hadn't gotten anything for him. Draco just stared at him coolly. "Most of our comforts were sitting out in the tent when… Anyway, I was just about to leave when I found—"

"Another tent!" Harry exclaimed. "Brilliant! Hermione, you think you could do an expansion charm on it?"

"Absolutely," she said. The three of them set to work setting up and expanding the new tent - Hermione working from her place on her cot as she was still too weak to do much else – and putting away their various spoils.

By nightfall they had everything in place and had moved Draco's prison to an inside corner of the tent where they set another lumpy and sad looking piece of fish in front of him before gathering at a small wooden breakfast table Ron had commandeered on his run to eat their meal. "Had to shrink it so I could carry everything. Took me a few tries, but I knew we didn't have any furniture anymore," he'd said when Hermione had picked up what she assumed what a toy dining set.

"Okay," Harry said after they'd all eaten a few bites of their meal. "I think it's time we talked and figured a few things out." They all three looked over to where Draco sat, trying to maintain some of his Malfoy dignity while sitting on the floor in five day old clothes eating his meal with his bare hands. It wasn't exactly easy.

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "I suppose it is." She raised her wand and, pointing it at Draco, said, " _Muffliato_."

An annoying buzzing sound filled Draco's ears. His three captors immediately began talking, but he couldn't hear anything other than the buzzing. _I may lose my voice from lack of use,_ he thought. If he was being honest, though, the comfortable silence was actually rather nice after so many months of the constant sounds of Death Eaters' threats and laughs and prisoners' screams and cries. He settled down with his meal and, sipping slowly on his tin cup full of water, tried to read Potter, Weasley, and Granger's lips as they, he was sure, discussed what the actual fuck he was doing here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 5:**

Hermione had cried the day she'd learned Draco Malfoy was truly a Death Eater. Of course, that night had been filled with all manner of reasons to cry. Snape's betrayal had been as equally shocking as it was unsurprising. No one but Dumbledore had ever fully trusted the man, not really, but Dumbledore's complete confidence in the Death-Eater-turned-spy had been hard to question. He was, after all, the most intelligent wizard any of them had ever known. Learning that Dumbledore's trust and love for the man had been his downfall was a bitter pill to swallow.

She'd mourned her headmaster. They all had. She'd wept over his body with everyone else. It was later though when she, Harry, and Ron were alone and Harry had told them exactly what had transpired on the Astronomy Tower that an even deeper grief had consumed her.

She wasn't friends with the Slytherin. She wasn't even on friendly terms with him. Hell, he'd been nothing but a bloody nightmare to her and those she loved for six years. Still, when she'd learned of his choice, learned how his innocence had been stripped from him at the too young age of sixteen, it'd made her sick. She'd curled in a ball behind the closed red and gold curtains of her four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower that night and wept for the boy who'd been forced to make a man's decision. She knew he'd been forced. They all had. They were all just children being forced to choose sides in a war that shouldn't even exist. And really, what choice did Draco Malfoy have? He'd been raised to appreciate the dark arts. He'd been raised by a man who worshipped a monster. He'd been taught from birth that Muggles and Muggle-borns were dirty, contaminated, and less than human. He had been living with Voldemort himself when he'd been home over the summer. No, Malfoy didn't seem to have had much of a choice. His choices and prejudices had all been made for him and ingrained in him since before he could talk.

The fact that he'd been unable, or more accurately, unwilling to kill Dumbledore gave her hope for him. Harry had said Draco had been lowering his wand; he was considering Dumbledore's offer of protection. She often wondered what could have become of him had Snape not taken yet another choice away from him. Still, she hoped that maybe one day he'd switch sides in this war or even just walk away from it altogether before it was too late and he did something he couldn't take back. She hoped that he'd hang on to a shred of his boyhood innocence.

Hermione wasn't completely sure why she cared so much, but she did. She felt sorry for the beautiful blonde boy. She'd thought she'd seen real pain behind his grey eyes on more than one occasion. Once she'd caught a glimpse of fear when his usual cocky mask had slipped. Harry himself had said he'd seen Malfoy sobbing in the lavatory on the awful day he'd nearly killed his longtime foe with an unknown spell he'd had no business casting. Draco had walked around school all that year without his usual confidence or trademark sneer, growing thinner and thinner by the week. He didn't exactly give off the air of someone who was happy with his life or the choices he'd made, and for that, she'd pitied him.

Hermione didn't believe he was truly evil.

She hadn't voiced any of this to Harry or Ron. Why would she? It wasn't like there was anything they could do to help him even if hell did freeze over and she convinced her two best friends to try to rescue someone they loathed and who quite possibly didn't even want to be rescued.

Then they'd managed to make their escape from Malfoy Manor and he was standing there next to her looking like a lost child having, like her, just suffered torture from his own aunt, and she'd decided that he deserved to, for the first time in his life possibly, make his own choices.

That moment's decision brought them here, to their little sanctuary they'd formed in their tent in the woods, their little home. The home that now housed Draco Malfoy. She hadn't expected the boys to be happy about their new roommate, least of all Ron. She was not disappointed.

"I think the first thing we need to discuss is obvious," Ron started with a look over his shoulder to the corner of the tent and the boy sitting there. "What are we going to do with _him_? I know you were out of it, 'Mione, and we don't blame you for bringing him. Honestly. Don't worry; we'll fix this," he said to her with a sincere smile.

Hermione instantly bristled. "For your information, Ronald, I don't need you to _fix_ anything for me. I was perfectly in control of my impulses at the time I decided to bring Malfoy with us. I was not suffering from delirium or damsel-in-distress syndrome," she said calmly but with a look of indignation.

"Then why?" Harry asked curiously. "What good is he to us here? He said it himself. They'll never trade anything for him. You-Know-Who doesn't exactly put his followers' lives in front of what he wants. And I seriously doubt he has any information about the Horcruxes."

"No, I don't believe he would," Hermione agreed. She sighed loudly. "I didn't bring him to be an asset to us though. He's not a pawn in a game. I brought him so he had a chance to not be treated as such for the first time."

Ron looked at her blankly. "I don't understand," he said slowly.

Hermione fidgeted nervously with a loose thread on her jumper. "I feel sorry for him," she said at last. Ron continued to stare at her without comprehension, and she sighed again before continuing. "Have you ever stopped to think about what it must be like for him? Living with that _thing_ under his roof. He had to make the choice about whether or not to become a Death Eater at sixteen. Sixteen! After a lifetime of his father revering the dark arts and years of that monster in his home, what else could he be expected to do? His path was chosen for him from the time he was baby as much as yours was, Harry. Neither of you ever had the choice to sit this war out. I just feel like maybe had he been surrounded by different influences, he'd have made a different choice. So I thought, _maybe it's not too late._ "

"Hermione, I understand you think it's not fair, and you're probably right," Harry said. "I get it. He was pretty much screwed from the beginning. I agree with you there. Even though I don't like the shit, I can see where you'd pity his situation. But 'Mione, what are we supposed to do here? His being here is putting us and what we have to do at risk. It's not like we can just let him go. He'll go back, you know he will, and he may be able to tell them enough to find us again. It's not like he can stay here while we try to hunt and destroy Horcruxes either though. He can find out too much. If he escapes-"

"How?" she interjected. "How would he be able to escape? He's behind a shield and has no wand. He's no harm to us. Not really. Plus," she said, crossing her arms in a stubborn gesture, "I don't think he'd harm us anyway." She looked a bit more confident in that fact than she actually was, but she was determined to hold her ground.

"Why the hell would you think that?" Ron asked. Hermione looked to him and noticed his face had reddened with anger. "He's a bloody Death Eater, Hermione! He's Draco Malfoy! Of course he'd harm us if he got the chance! What the fuck were you thinking, bringing him here? I could forgive it when I thought you were out of it, but to know you intentionally risked us this way, basically betraying our-"

"Tread carefully about where _you_ want to go with this conversation, Ronald," she said in a deceptively calm and polite tone. Ron's cheeks flushed even darker. He'd obviously gotten her subtle reminder that he had his own temporary betrayal to live with. "And I don't remember asking for your forgiveness." She stared at him coolly until he dropped his gaze.

"How did you two escape the cellar?" she asked abruptly, looking to Harry.

He seemed slightly taken aback. "Malfoy forgot to put the wards back up after he came down for Griphook. Ron was frantic and just yanked on the doorknob not thinking it would open, but it did. Lucky for us, too," Harry said.

"He forgot?" Hermione asked skeptically. "You actually believe he forgot to make sure _you_ of all people couldn't escape? Please."

"So, what, you think he let us out on purpose?" Ron scoffed. "Why would he do that?"

Hermione's confident and stubborn demeanor evaporated as she uncrossed her arms, sagging a little in her seat. She let out yet another sigh. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe he's not as committed to You-Know-Who as we thought?"

"Rubbish," Ron said.

"Well, rubbish or not, he's here now. Just- Can we all at least take the time to, I don't know, just see what happens? To find out if he truly is the vile prat we all know and loathe or if there's… something else?" She looked to Harry knowing Ron would never entertain the idea that maybe the boy had some shred of decency in him.

"Look, I don't particularly think he's an evil mastermind or anything, but I do think he's a coward," Harry said flatly. "He'll betray us to him in a heartbeat if that's what he has to do to stay alive."

"And yet he didn't," she responded smoothly. At Harry's raised eyebrow and Ron's incredulous snort she said softly, "He knew. At the Manor, before our disguises faded, he looked me in the eye, and he knew it was me. Bell-" Hermione's voice caught on the name and a chill swept over her. She cleared her throat and continued. "Bellatrix asked him flat out if it was us, and he lied. Why, if he's so committed to You-Know-Who, would he lie? Think of the praise it would have given him and his family in You-Know-Who's eyes if they had been the ones to turn you in, Harry. But he didn't tell them."

"Because he didn't know for sure!" Ron all but shouted at her.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Harry said quickly before his two best friends could have another go at one another. "Honestly, no matter his reasons for whatever he may or may not have done, whatever your reasons for bringing him, Hermione, it doesn't matter right now. Here we are, and I think we just need to play it by ear. We'll keep him in his box, and we'll keep planning our next step and just make sure he can't hear us. We'll take some time to figure out a long term plan, but honestly, I'm not sure how much time we've got before this war comes to a peak anyway." Hermione noticed not for the first time how much older than seventeen he sounded these days, especially when talking about what was essentially a battle plan. Yet another boy having to make a man's decisions. If only she could give him a choice, too. Though, she already knew what his would be. "What we really need to be discussing is how we're going to get into Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts," he continued. "It was obvious from her reaction to the sword that You-Know-Who has a Horcrux hidden there."

"In hindsight it would have been smart to bring Griphook with us," she said, happy for the change of subject. "Though if I'm being completely honest I'm not sure how well sharing a tent with him would have gone." Harry grinned at her halfheartedly.

Ron remained stony faced. "We'll need to watch Gringotts like we did with the Ministry to make sure we know what we're getting in to. Best we can, at least," he said, careful not to look at Hermione. Apparently he planned on staying angry with her for a while.

"Right," Harry said. "Hermione, you obviously won't be able to go, so–"

"Excuse me?" she said agitated. "And why not exactly?"

"You still need to recover," he said. "If anything were to happen, if you were spotted, I'm not sure you'd have the strength to get away. I can tell by your face that just having this conversation is starting to wear you out again."

He was right. She was exhausted. "Okay, fine, you're right. So the two of you will go–"

"The two of us?" Ron said sitting up straighter in his chair and forgetting that he wasn't speaking to her for the moment. "And leave you here alone with a bloody Death Eater? Have you lost your mind? Well, never mind, that much is obvious," he muttered.

"You'd be leaving me here with Malfoy who is in an impenetrable prison cell, yes. I think I can handle a wandless and barred teenage boy, thank you very much," she said. "It's too risky for just one of you to go. If, like Harry said, anything were to happen, you'd need one another to escape. You can both fit under the cloak well enough if you hunch down. Just find a place to sit where no one will bump into you, and you'll be fine. I'll be perfectly fine here on my own. I'll sit outside the tent entrance and keep an eye out, and Malfoy will be in here alone and unable to go anywhere."

The two boys exchanged a worried look that clearly said they were about to continue arguing. "I'll be fine," she said firmly. "End of discussion. You two will leave right before dawn. Now, I'm exhausted. I'm going to let you two decide who takes first watch, and I'm going to get some rest. Wake me if you need anything. Good night."

"Good night," they murmured under their breaths, clearly recognizing that resistance was futile.

Hermione watched them walk out of the tent entrance discussing who would take first watch. She loved those boys, but sometimes they could be thick. She was convinced this was one of those times.

"He knew," she whispered to herself, and with one last glance in the blonde boy's direction, she laid down and drifted off into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 6:**

Draco had watched his three captors presumably discuss his fate with growing agitation. Naturally they had turned their backs to him, and he'd been unable to read a single word on any of their lips. He'd sat in his clear prison cell of a home with his lousy meal and tried to decipher their body language instead.

The Weasel was pissed off, that much was obvious. That gave him a quick rush of smug pleasure. Granger seemed to whip back and forth from calm and reasonable, shoulders relaxed and hand gestures soft, to angry and defensive, shoulders tensed and her back rigid in her seat. The latter attitude seemed to always be directed toward Weasley. Interesting, though not very telling. Potter appeared to be decidedly neutral. His posture gave nothing away.

They didn't talk for too long before Granger sagged in her seat and the two boys got up, supposedly muttering their "good nights", and left the tent to, he assumed, stand watch outside. Granger had looked over her shoulder at him and, meeting his eyes, mouthed what looked like "he knew". What Draco _didn't_ know was what the hell that was supposed to mean.

The witch had neglected to remove whatever bloody charm she had cast so that he couldn't hear their conversation, and it wasn't long before the soft buzzing sound lulled him into, as always, a fitful sleep.

When Draco woke the next morning just after the sun had risen, Hermione was sitting at the small breakfast table eating a bowl of what appeared to be rather lumpy porridge and reading the same old copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that Potter had been reading the morning before. Her wild mane of hair was looking particularly hostile, shooting in all directions and seemingly moving slightly as if it had a mind and life of its own.

Draco had a sudden memory from his dreams. Not a memory exactly. Just a flash of colors, the memory of a memory of a dream. Browns and blues and silvers. Something about the images made his pulse quicken slightly, though he didn't have the first clue as to why. What was that flash of blue…?

"Good morning," a girl's voice said politely. Draco shook his head to rid himself of his not-quite memory and looked toward the voice. She had her legs tucked under her in her chair and was twirling her spoon round and round her bowl in an absentminded gesture. "Did you sleep well?" Hermione asked.

Draco raised one perfect blonde eyebrow at her but didn't respond otherwise as he stretched his legs out in front of him to work out the stiffness. He looked around his tiny quarters to see if she had at least refilled his tin cup with water, but it was gone. In its place was a small bundle of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a small basin filled with warm water and a washcloth beside it. His other brow raised in question and a bit of surprise as he looked back at her.

"You know, it is considered polite to respond when you're spoken to," Hermione said in a conversational tone. "I would have assumed the son of a Malfoy diplomat would understand social etiquette a little better. Then again, perhaps manners don't extend to Mudbloods. How would I know?"

The blood slur coming out of her mouth shocked him slightly, and he said, "Good morning," before he could stop himself. "What's all this?" he asked, gesturing toward the new items in his cell.

Hermione wrinkled her nose a bit. "Exactly what it looks like. You're in the same ridiculously proper suit you were in nearly a week ago, and I'd assume it would smell _exactly_ like a week old outfit if I got close enough to see for myself."

Draco straightened his shoulders and raised his chin in indignation, but she continued before he could huff about how Malfoys were always properly groomed and no he did _not_ smell (yes, he did), thank you very much. "Ron picked up a few extra sets of clothes for him and Harry, so I tried to alter a pair of trousers to fit you properly. You're built similar to Harry, only slightly taller and possibly marginally slimmer as far as I can tell, so I extended the length a bit. I'm no seam-witch, but they should suffice. There's a clean shirt and jumper and, erm, other essentials there, too," she said looking slightly over his shoulder rather than at him.

Draco picked through the stack of clothes gingerly and pulled out a pair of faded blue jeans with a hideously crooked hem at the cuffs, a plain white t-shirt, a rather scratchy grey jumper, a pair of boxers, and a pair of white socks. "I'll step outside for a few minutes so you can clean up," she said and walked out of the tent with the _Prophet_ tucked under her arm and her wand in hand.

Draco stared at the tent entrance where she'd disappeared from view in slight confusion for a moment before gratefully stripping off his blood- and dirt-stained black suit and not-quite-white-anymore button-up shirt. He quickly scrubbed the dirt and crusted blood from his body, taking care around his mostly healed but still tender wound, and, shivering from the water on his skin in the chill of the tent, slipped into his new clean clothes. Other than the fact that the hem on the jeans was horrendous, they were a perfect fit and length. He hadn't realized just how grimy and poorly he'd felt in his dirty outfit until the fresh clothes had touched his body. He used the washcloth to remove the worst of the mess from his dragon-hide boots. He'd been right; they'd never be the same. Still, they were all he had and they were now clean, so he pulled them back on. He brushed his teeth for the first time in six days and felt as if he could move mountains.

With nothing else to do, he settled back down on the floor and waited alone for several minutes until Hermione called out, "Are you decent?" _That's a loaded question_ , Draco thought, but he simply called back, "Yes."

Hermione walked back in the tent and over to the breakfast table where she fiddled with something for a few minutes, mumbling under her breath and prodding her wand at something Draco could not see as her back was to him. When she resumed her seat, he saw a second bowl of lumpy mush and cup on the table across from her own.

"Any chance that might be for me?" he asked after several long moments of the two of them simply sitting and waiting.

She nodded her head slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes."

"Good." He waited. "Any chance you might _bring_ it to me?" he asked impatiently after several more long moments.

Hermione gave him a long and calculating look before pointing her wand at him and saying, " _Finite Incantatem_."

Nothing happened. At least, nothing visible happened. Recognizing the incantation as a general counter-spell, Draco stood up and cautiously took one step forward, then another, then another, then another. Still, nothing happened. He was clearly beyond the bounds of his cell now, which meant she'd removed the barrier. Which meant he was no longer locked away. Which made him very confused.

"Are you going to sit and have some breakfast, or are you going to continue staring at me as if I've suddenly sprouted a tail?" she asked him.

Watching her warily, Draco walked slowly over to the empty seat across from Hermione's and sat down. He eyed the bowl in front of him and debated with himself about whether or not he was really _that_ hungry. Suddenly a rich, delicious smell hit him, and he picked up his cup to find it filled with steaming fresh coffee. _Well, this day is turning out to be exponentially more pleasant than the last several._

"Cream or sugar?" she asked him.

"No," he said. Then reluctantly, "Thanks."

They sat in silence for several minutes while Draco ate his food (it wasn't all that bad, but only because it was nearly tasteless) and drank his black coffee and Hermione sipped her considerably lighter and sweeter cup of the same while still pouring over her opened newspaper. He realized with some shock that this was the first time in his life he'd ever shared a meal with a Muggle-born. Even at Hogwarts he'd been seated with only purebloods and half-bloods as Slytherin House definitely didn't welcome Muggle-borns in their ranks. He wasn't sure how he felt about this turn of events, thought if he was being quite honest with himself, it was exceptionally more pleasant than dining with the sloppy and vulgar Crabbe and Goyle, pureblood or not.

Draco scanned the part of the newspaper that was facing him as he forced another bite of the flavorless lumps down his throat. The currently Imperiused Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, smiled at him from the front page under a headline reading:

" **Ministry introduces new bill; Half-bloods now required to register."**

Draco hadn't heard about this new upcoming law. He wondered what the end-game was here. Everyone knew there were only a handful of true pureblood families left. The Sacred Twenty-Eight. While he was in no way willing to marry outside of the circle even if he were allowed to, he realized the necessity of other, lesser wizards doing so. If the Dark Lord decided to start offing half-bloods too, the wizarding race as a whole was liable to go extinct.

With an annoyed huff, Hermione folded her paper up and threw it down on the table beside her now empty breakfast bowl. She waited patiently while Draco finished the last few bites of his own bland porridge before taking both of their bowls and, after doing a quick cleaning spell on them, setting them aside in a small area of the tent along with a few other kitchen items.

She sat back down at the table, her hands resting casually in her lap along with her wand. "So," she said. "How's your leg?" At Draco's raised eyebrow she said, "Harry told me about the knife wound. Has it healed properly?"

Draco wondered for a moment why she'd even care, but then he remembered. Gryffindors, always trying to save somebody, even when taking them captive. _She'd probably feel like a total failure if her prisoner died, the annoying swot_ , he thought bitterly. "How's your arm?" he countered, his eyes drifting to the spot on the girl in front of him where his aunt's knife had been carving before it had entered his own thigh.

Hermione's eyes darkened and narrowed and her right hand involuntarily flew to cover the bandage underneath her jumper on her left forearm. Draco felt an unexpected pang of guilt that he did his best to ignore.

"Where are the Dimwitted Duo?" he asked her.

"Out," she replied. That seemed to be a staple answer among this group. When she didn't elaborate, he changed the subject yet again.

"Why did you let me out of the box?" he asked with true curiosity.

She was quiet for some time before she answered. "You deserve a chance," she said simply. "Well, maybe not _deserve_ , but still, you're getting one."

When it became clear she wasn't going to explain further, Draco asked, "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione sighed. "Nothing. I just figured you could use a bit of room to stretch your legs, and you definitely needed to clean up. You're not here for us to torture for our enjoyment. I realize that's probably a new idea to you," she said with slight sarcasm.

Honestly, it was. He'd never known prisoners to not be tortured, and he'd seen a lot of prisoners in the last couple of years. "What exactly am I here for then?" he asked her.

She looked in his eyes for several long seconds. The prolonged eye contact made him want to shift nervously in his seat, but he refrained. She seemed to be searching for something. Whether or not she found it, Draco didn't know. "That's your choice, Malfoy," she said at last.

"Are you going to say anything today that isn't fucking cryptic as hell?" he asked irritably.

She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "Let's walk outside," she said.

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. He watched as she strode to the tent entrance, stopping there to whip her head around, bushy brown hair flying, and asking impatiently, "Are you coming or not?"

Draco stood up from his chair and walked to where she stood, all the while increasingly confused at the way she was treating him. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected – more ignoring, maybe? – but this wasn't it. They stepped out into the bright morning sunlight, and the cold wind bit at the exposed skin of his face and hands in a blissful way. She stared walking away from the tent and further into the surrounding woods, and he followed a few steps behind her. She didn't go far before she stopped and turned back to face him and said, "This is as far as we can go. There's a concealing protective barrier around the perimeter, similar to the one you've been in. Can you see it?"

Draco squinted and focused, and he was just able to see a very faint shimmering in the air just in front of where they stood. "Not a very good concealment charm if it can be seen, is it? No wonder you lot got yourselves caught," he mocked.

"You can see it because I just told you it was there. If you hadn't known what to look for, you'd still be blind to it," she explained. "Anyone else who comes within ten feet of the perimeter will simply find themselves walking around it without noticing. They will neither run into it nor spot it. And no, that's not why we were caught," she finished.

"How did they find you?" he asked, again honestly curious. "The Snatchers?"

Hermione didn't answer. Instead she simply stared at him and waited as realization dawned on his face. A slow, sly smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. "The taboo. Of course. Not very smart of you all. Come to think of it, not very smart of you to bring me here after all, now was it? To take me prisoner? _I don't need a wand to say his name,_ " he whispered.

"No," she agreed, "you don't. You do, however, need to be able to actually say the name which is something you cannot do. Do you really think I haven't already thought of the possibility?" She gave him a skeptical look. "No, Malfoy, I took care of that complication the moment I came to yesterday. It's a type of Confundus Charm, specific to that one word, or rather name, only. If you attempted to say it, it would just come out a garbled mess. Go ahead. Try." She crossed her arms in front of her and waited.

Draco swallowed hard. The thing was, even if he were capable, even if I would get him out of here, he didn't know that he could say the name. And she knew it. She was calling his bluff. Damn her.

"That's what I thought," she said softly. "The spell is simply a precaution for Harry and Ron's benefit, but I didn't figured you'd try anyway. However, 'fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself', Malfoy."

"I'm not afraid of a fucking name," he spat angrily because, damn her, damn her, damn her, he was. Or rather, the thing that came along with the name. Who wasn't? Being a Death Eater didn't change that for anyone. If anything, being close to him only enhanced that fear.

"Okay," she said as if she were trying to placate him. "Let's walk back." She turned and started back the way they'd come. He wondered idly what the hell she was thinking, bringing him out here and turning her back on him as if he couldn't overpower her. Then again – and this was a bitter pill to swallow – he knew well enough that wandlessly attacking a Hermione Granger who did have her wand may be the dumbest thing he could ever possibly do.

They silently made it back the short distance to the tent, and Hermione plopped herself down on the ground to one side of the doorway, bracing her back against one of the cold metal poles that, along with magic, held the structure together. She gestured to the other side, and Draco gracefully lowered himself to the hard earth, all the while wondering what her goal was in letting him out of his prison in the first place.

" _Accio quilts!_ " she said with her wand pointing through the open entrance, and two thick piles of fabric flew into her waiting arms. She held one of the blankets out to him, and as he reached for it he noticed the sleeve of her jumper pulled back enough to show the edge of the bandage underneath. Draco was shocked to find it still stained with blood. The sight made adrenaline pulse through his body, though why was completely beyond him.

Hermione noticed the slight widening of his eyes and followed his gaze to her arm. She pulled her hand back and tugged the sleeve of her jumper down. "Bellatrix was very thorough in her marking of me. She made sure to put a curse on my arm before she set to enjoying her task of carving into my flesh. It has caused the wound to heal much more slowly than is normal. I expect I'll be lucky if it ever stops bleeding long enough to leave a scar behind." She said it all in a flat, emotionless tone, but Draco saw the color leave her cheeks as she spoke.

He didn't know what to say to that. He thought fleetingly that normally he would taunt her with some snarky remark, but the truth was he just didn't want to. Once again, as was becoming all too normal when it came to this girl he'd loathed for nearly seven years, he didn't have a fucking clue as to why, but taunting her just didn't seem to bring the satisfaction it used to.

"So, is this the part of the story where you try to befriend the villain so he'll tell you all the secrets you need to know?" he asked dryly. "If so, I can pretty much assure you that you're wasting your time."

"Obviously it's not as there are no villains in sight," she replied.

Draco snorted. "Open your eyes, woman. I'm sitting right here."

"Indeed, you are," she said looking him in the eye in that unnerving way of hers. "Again, I see no villains. I see a boy with a Mark on his arm and indecision in his eyes. That's all."

"Then you're blind," he said flatly. "I made my decision nearly two years ago. We are definitely on opposite sides of this war, Granger, which makes me the villain to you." She continued to look at him as if she didn't believe a word he was saying, as if she thought he was just some good, misunderstood boy underneath it all, and it pissed him off. "Don't think for a second that I won't kill you when I get the chance," he spat.

"'When' you get the chance?" she scoffed with a half laugh. "Make that a very unlikely 'if', and the answer is still, 'no, you won't'," she said with confidence. "You already had a chance to see me dead. You chose to save my life instead."

"I never saved your fucking life!" he hollered and ignored the _yeah, you kind of fucking did, moron_ in the back of his head.

"Sure you did. Twice, technically. First when you didn't tell your lunatic of an aunt it was us," she said.

"I didn't bloody know—"

"And second when you let Harry and Ron out of the cellar."

"I didn't let them out of the damn-"

"You can say what you like. I know what I saw. I know what happened. Maybe you honestly just don't even realize it yet. Maybe you truly don't know that you, _you_ made the decisions that spared all three of our lives, but you did." Her expression softened slightly. "I don't think you're the evil person you want to be or think you are, Malfoy," she said quietly.

Draco glared at her while a combination of anger and confusion and even a little fear warred inside him. She seemed so sure, so absolutely convinced that he'd intentionally spared all three of their lives. And who was he kidding? He'd panicked. For reasons he couldn't explain then and still couldn't now, he'd been horrifically and embarrassingly weak and panicked when he saw the three of them held hostage in his living room. He'd panicked when Hermione's screams of agony had reached his ears. And he had indeed made the choices that set in motion the events that led to their escape and his capture.

He didn't know why he did it. He didn't _want_ to have done it. But he had. And she knew it. Which meant that _he_ may know it as well. Which meant if he managed to escape this tent in the woods to go back to his home, he'd likely be walking into his own torturous traitor's death. To his mother's torturous death as further punishment.

Suddenly the air froze. It wasn't wind moving across his face, in and out of his lungs anymore. It was a solid block of ice, and it was choking him.

"Malfoy?" he vaguely heard Hermione ask with concern. "Malfoy, what's wrong?"

His hands were tearing at his throat and ripping at the neck of his jumper which had somehow shrunk several sizes and was now strangling him, he was sure. He felt an icy cold sweat bead on his forehead, and his lips went numb. He was semi-aware of movement to his right and, several seconds later, cautious hands on his shoulders.

"Malfoy, you haven't been jinxed or hexed. I think you're having an anxiety attack." _No fucking shit_ , he thought. "Just try to breathe, okay?" _What the fuck do you think I'm doing you annoying swot?!_

The edges of his vision were taking on a black tint, and though his arms and hands were now completely numb, he'd managed to rip his jumper over his head and off. It did nothing for the suffocating feeling or the fact that his heart was threatening to burst straight through his chest. He thought fleetingly that he should and would later be quite embarrassed, but he just didn't care now. "Potion," he choked out through deadened lips.

"I looked, but I don't have anything other than the Essence of Dittany, and that will do nothing for you now. I'm sorry," she said, and she sounded like she meant it. "You're going to have to calm yourself, okay?" She spoke in a soft, soothing tone, her hands still lightly on his shoulders. "I know what it's like; I had them in fifth year while preparing for our O.W.L.S., though of course I was lucky enough to have Madam Pomfrey if I chose to go to her. Malfoy, look at me. Look at me," she coaxed him.

His wild grey eyes met her calm brown ones where she kneeled in front of him. He couldn't remember ever being this up close with her before. Why would he have been? He noticed with the small part of his brain that wasn't frozen the light gold flecks on the edges of her irises. "I've never understood why you all like Quidditch so much," she said in light conversational tone. "I suppose it's an alright sport, but it's just that: a sport. I've always thought you all took it entirely too seriously. Remember in second year when you and Harry nearly broke your necks diving for the blasted Snitch? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. And then at the Quidditch World Cup when Viktor was hit in the face with a Bludger? Merlin, the blood! Honestly, why would you lot put yourselves through all of that?" she asked in a soft voice.

He knew she was trying to distract him (even if he didn't completely know _why_ ), and it was working. "It's fun," he managed. His heart rate had already slowed, and the darkness had faded from the edges of his vision.

Hermione chuckled quietly. "Fun?" she scoffed. "If being at risk for death is what you consider fun, you have a seriously demented take on the word."

"Well… I seem to have a bit of a tendency… to be drawn to things that could kill me," he breathed. Most of the feeling had returned to his arms, hands, and face.

Hermione gave him a sad smile. "So I've noticed," she said as she released his shoulders and sat back on her heels. They sat in silence for several minutes while his lungs gratefully accepted the cold, crisp air that had, thank Merlin, unfrozen around him.

When he'd fully regained control, Hermione stood, brushing dirt off of the knees of her jeans, and retrieved her wand from the ground where she'd dropped it earlier. "I fancy a bit of reading," she said, "and Harry and Ron will be back any minute now for something to eat, I'm sure. We'd better go back inside."

The events of the last several minutes hit him, and as he knew it would, shame and embarrassment engulfed him. He didn't know why it mattered. She was just a Mudblood! What the hell did her opinion of him matter? It didn't. She had no right or reason to be looking at him with fucking pity, and it only served to piss him off. She had no reason to look as if she'd somehow accomplished something. It's not like it had been her words that had calmed him. It certainly hadn't been her touch. "Don't put your fucking filthy hands on me again," he snapped, jerking upright and glaring at her.

Hermione's head snapped back as if she'd been slapped, but she kept her eyes entirely emotionless as she pointed to the entrance of the tent. Draco spun on his heel and stormed inside, fuming. He wasn't even one hundred percent sure why.

" _Pellucidio incarcerous!"_ he heard from behind him as he walked through the area that had been his invisible prison. He whirled around to see her pointing her wand at him, her expression still completely neutral. He pushed a hand out in front of his face and hit an invisible barrier, just as he knew he would.

A wry, twisted smile curled his lips. "Figured out you were wrong, have you?" he asked. He felt both smug about the fact that she appeared to have realized that he was indeed a villain to her and disappointed. As was becoming habit, he pushed the latter feeling down.

"I'd simply prefer Harry and Ron not to know you've been out, and if you'd like to be free of that cell again, you won't mention it to them either," she said wearily. She leaned heavily on the tiny table, bracing herself with her right arm. Draco looked at her face and noticed she was very pale. "I'll forgo the reading for a nap, I think." She glanced down at her left arm which she had pulled to her chest and sighed. Draco followed her gaze and saw blood seeping through her jumper. "As soon as I re-bandage this and change, of course."

Draco felt yet another bloody fucking confusing pang of unwanted guilt. She'd been weak and obviously in pain, yet she'd tried to help him through his pathetic bout of anxiety. And he'd been an arse. _It's just as well_ , he thought _. I'm not what she thinks I am, and I won't give her any illusions that indicate otherwise._

"Here," she said and tossed the old _Prophet_ in his clear box. "Something to keep you entertained." She then walked over to where her, Harry, and Ron's makeshift beds and her beaded bag lay. She rummaged through the bag and pulled out a handful of bandages and a clean jumper. Draco wondered just how big of an extension charm she'd managed to put on the thing.

"Your guard dogs aren't very smart, you know," he said as she set about changing her dressing. _MUDBLOOD_ could easily be read in bright red on her skin from across the room. Draco ignored the flip-flop his stomach did at the sight. It's what she was, after all. "Leaving you here alone with me with no way to contact you."

She pulled a folded piece of parchment out of the front pocket of her jeans. "They can and have contacted me, and they know I'm just fine," she told him in a tired voice. "A Protean Charm, much like the one I used in fifth year."

Draco didn't have a clue what she was talking about at first, and then he remembered how the group she had started called Dumbledore's Army had somehow managed to stay in contact and plan secret meetings all that year underneath his and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad's noses. "That's how you did it? The meetings. I never could figure it out," he admitted.

"Fake Galleons," she informed him. "Still have mine somewhere…"

"That's really quite clever," he said despite himself.

"Yes, well, I can't exactly take credit. I got the idea from what's burned into your skin, only I thought Galleons were more civilized," she said.

That shocked him a bit. So, she'd taken ideas from the Dark Lord. He wondered idly when he'd stop being surprised by the witch. She wasn't exactly what everyone, including himself apparently, would assume.

"Now," she said as she pulled a clean brown jumper over her white t-shirt and walked over to the table to fill a glass with water, "I'm going to rest for a bit." She levitated the glass into his cell. "If you could keep your rude, insulting, and often times down-right cruel comments to yourself for a while, that'd be great." She laid down on her bed and pulled the thick quilts over her.

With nothing else to do, Draco sat on the hard floor of the tent and opened the newspaper to pass the time and, hopefully, drown out the feelings of guilt, worry, anger, and confusion that seemed to be assaulting him from all angles these days.


	7. Chapter 7

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 7:**

_**SEARCH LAUNCHED FOR FORMER HOGWARTS TEACHER; MALFOY FUNDING EFFORT** _

_After considerable pressure from the wizarding community, Minister Pius Thicknesse has authorized an official search for reportedly missing witch, Charity Burbage. Miss Burbage previously taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry but resigned from her post this previous summer. While most know and believe that Miss Burbage has simply chosen to take an extended private holiday, there are those in the community who are concerned about her whereabouts and have pressed the matter to the point that an official search party has been formed. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Egerton Yaxley, has gathered "my best and brightest to locate Miss Burbage". Lucius Malfoy has graciously donated a grand lump sum of Galleons to the effort in the hopes that "one of my son's most favored teachers will be returned home, safe and sound"._

_It has been rumored that Miss Burbage's abrupt resignation from her post at Hogwarts was fueled by a lover's spat between herself and her former colleague and Potions master, Severus Snape. When asked for a statement, Mister Snape said, "My personal life is private, and I'd rather not talk about the witch who broke my heart when she refused my proposal of marriage. Now, go and leave me to drown my sorrows with potions and firewhiskey."_

Draco snorted as he flipped the page of the Daily Prophet with disgust. How anyone took that deplorable Rita Skeeter woman seriously was baffling to him. Snape, someone's lover. Please. The man had probably never so much as desired a woman much less wish to marry one. Of course, Skeeter did help play into politics. His father donating money to the "search" was quite the clever scheme to build rapport among the Wizarding community, and he didn't doubt for a second that his quoted statement had actually come from his mouth, even if Draco somehow hadn't heard of the plan. Everyone knew Lucius intended on running for a seat in the Wizengamot during elections, and this certainly looked good on his behalf. Never mind the fact that everyone already knew where the teacher was, more or less. Those were just details. Draco involuntarily shivered at the memory of her demise and turned his attention to a new article, still trying to distract himself from his incomprehensible emotions.

_**LOCKHART CELEBRATES BIRTHDAY WITH OLD FRIENDS** _

_Famed author and adventurer Gilderoy Lockhart celebrated his 34th birthday on Monday with a visit to his quarters at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries by several fans and friends. While he never was quite certain what exactly was going on, he was excited to smile and wave for the camera, eat cake, and even proudly show me how he could write his name in "loopy letters" now._

_Lockhart's memory was permanently altered five years ago at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while battling a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets during his rescue of three students._

Draco folded the paper back up without so much as finishing one entire article and tossed it on the floor. Did anyone really rely on the thing for actual news these days? He certainly hoped not.

He laid down on his back with his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the tent ceiling and thinking idly that he'd prefer to see the stars he knew were out and shining overhead. Potter and Weasley had long since returned from wherever the hell they'd been, and all three members of the Tremendous Trio had been asleep for hours. Draco, tired as he was, could not quite seem to claim that luxury. He'd tossed and turned for an hour before finally giving up and snatching up the _Prophet_ to scan by the soft candlelight that had been left lit. Finding no refuge in that either, he let his mind wander.

He wondered about his mother's well-being. Was she safe? Was she worried? She must be. Draco could count on one hand how many people there were in the world that cared for him, that he'd ever let close enough to have the chance to possibly care for him. Honestly, he didn't even need the whole hand. A few fingers would do. His mother topped that list. That would be an obvious given to some, a parent's love. Not for Draco.

He knew without a doubt his father didn't love him. It wasn't a particularly sad thought, at least not after all these years. It was just a fact. His father didn't love anyone, truthfully. He worshipped the Dark Lord. He coveted and lusted after Narcissa's beauty and family status. He required an heir, and Draco was what he got. But that was about the extent of Lucius Malfoy's emotions. Except rage. Rage the man felt. Rage the man gave out freely. Rage he bestowed upon his only son the way other fathers bestowed pride upon theirs.

Of course, that was why his anger flowed so effortlessly toward his son. He'd never been proud of him. Draco had always, his entire life, found a way to screw up the simplest task. To disappoint his father. To be a shameful heir. He was extremely clever, but still he was second in school to Granger. ( _"Beaten out of top marks by a Mudblood?! Have you no pride?! Perhaps my cane can persuade you to try harder after the Christmas holiday."_ ) He was a very good flyer and above average Seeker, but of course Saint Potter was better. Yes, he was always second to someone, very much to his father's dismay.

Oh, sure, Lucius had always put on the doting father façade. Politics, as it were. No one needed to _know_ his son was a disgrace. It would look poorly. In the private confines of their manor home, however, his distaste of his only child was apparent in both the words and the fists he used against him. When Draco had taken the Mark for his father and had seen his eyes shine with glee, he'd thought that that was the end of it. That he'd finally made him proud. That Lucius finally felt he'd punished him enough, that he'd quite literally whipped him into shape. He should have known that was not the case. On the contrary, Draco was now even more inclined to receive corporal punishment from his father since joining the Dark Lord's ranks. Now when he screwed up – and according to Lucius Malfoy, Draco would always screw anything up, no matter how slightly – it was a reflection to the Dark Lord himself of the Malfoy name. It was the Dark Lord who was inconvenienced by his imperfection. It was the Dark Lord who applauded and encouraged whatever punishment Lucius would see fit. Lucius was sure to enhance and improve his punishments for the glory and joy of the Dark Lord.

So, no, his father was certainly not on the "People Who Care for Draco" list. In fact the only other people who might be were his best friend Theodore Nott and possibly his friend Blaise Zabini. Draco and Theo had quickly bonded over Christmas break during their first year. Their fathers had gotten together to reminisce about the old days (assumedly when they were active Death Eaters together), and he and Theo had found an unspoken and common link between them.

Raymond Nott enjoyed his firewhiskey more and his son less than the average man did. Where Lucius was all sharp words and swift blows, Raymond acted as if his son didn't even exist. Most of the time, anyway. The only times he did take notice of the boy were on days that made him think of his late wife and Theo's mother. Their anniversary, her birthday, Christmas. Those were the days when there wasn't enough firewhiskey in all of London to satisfy him, to drown his sorrow and misery. Those were the days Draco had to go to Nott Manor after the elder wizard had succumb to the effects of his drink and lie snoring in an armchair and use the healing and blemish-hiding spells he'd mastered over the years on his friend.

Draco suddenly felt a pang of sadness for Theo. He missed him, that one person who understood him, who truly knew him. He hoped Nott Sr. hadn't decided to give Theo to the Dark Lord's service. Sure, Draco had joined the Death Eaters rather willingly, but he knew Theo didn't want to and wouldn't want to see him forced. He wanted him to have a choice.

Somehow, comforted and tortured simultaneously by thoughts of the only two people he truly cared for, sleep claimed him.

When Draco awoke several hours later it was still pitch black outside. Both boys and Granger were already up and talking in hushed voices. Draco lay still, hoping not to let them know he was awake and trying to see if he could catch any of their conversation.

"I don't think you should try to move closer just yet, Harry," Hermione said softly. "Spend a few more days watching from the same vantage point to be sure of patterns before you start to move in."

"You're probably right," Harry conceded. "I just know we don't have too much time left. I can feel it," he said ominously. Draco wondered briefly if the rumors that Potter's and the Dark Lord's minds were connected were true and if so, if that connection was what made him think time was running out. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of sharing such an intimate link with the man. (And what a loose usage of the word "man".)

Hermione sighed. "I know," she said. It was quiet for several more minutes, save the rustling of clothing and scuffing of feet, before she continued. "Alright, you're all set. Be safe, okay? And don't forget to contact me at the designated times. I'm serious; don't you dare make me worry, Harry James Potter." Draco was amused by her maternal tone. There was a rustling of fabric that sounded as if two people were hugging, which he assumed they were.

"You be safe, too, Hermione," Harry said. "Seriously. Don't get any bright ideas. Take care of yourself."

Draco could practically see the indulgent smile on her face through her voice alone. "I will. Don't worry. Oh, and Harry!" There was the crinkling sound of paper. "If, and only if, a completely safe and easy opportunity presents itself, could you try to find the things on this list for me? It doesn't all have to be today! Honestly, take your time. Just whatever you can get, little by little, that'd be great."

There was the crinkling of paper unfolding before Harry said, "Potion ingredients? What're you brewing with this?"

"Just something I think would be wise to keep on hand. Like I said, no rush."

"Right. Well, we'll get it all bit by bit, okay?" Potter said.

"Are we leaving or not?" Weasley muttered grumpily.

"Yes, yes, go," Hermione shooed them. Draco heard them unzip the tent entrance and footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves until they faded into the distance. He wasn't sure if he actually heard the faint _pop_ of a Disapparation or if he just thought he did because he knew it was there. After a moment he heard the tent zip back and Hermione begin busying herself with cooking supplies, clattering pots and clanking spoons. "They're gone. You can get up now," she said after a few minutes.

Draco opened his eyes and sat up to see Hermione's back to him as she set about making breakfast at the tiny table. Seeing her made their exchanges from the previous morning flood back, and Draco felt shameful heat begin to rise in his cheeks. (Honestly, what was the point in acting surprised anymore? His baffling emotions and reactions were completely out of his control and foreign to him these days.) She glanced over her shoulder at him and, seeing him just sitting there, waved her wand in his direction before turning back to her task.

Draco got slowly to his feet and stretched, reaching a hand out in front of him to test his prison barrier. It was gone again. _Huh. After yesterday…?_ He wondered if, since she was already being so hospitable, he could convince Hermione to procure him a bed or at least a thicker quilt to lie on. The bumpy tent floor was making him feel like an old man. She probably wouldn't, not with the way he had treated her yesterday after—

"What are you making?" he asked simply to cut off his thoughts before his face could redden with his unwanted and confusing shame and embarrassment again.

"Breakfast," she responded without looking up.

Draco rolled his eyes, but of course she couldn't see him. "Obviously." _Smart ass witch_ , he thought. He grabbed his toothbrush from among his tiny pile of belongings on the floor and walked over to where the small basin of water from the day before sat now close to where the kitchen supplies were stacked. By the time he had washed his face and brushed his teeth, Hermione was sitting and enjoying her cup of what she called coffee but what he would have called nearly pure milk and sugar and reading a book.

Draco sat down across from her as he had the morning before and took a big gulp of his piping hot coffee before looking back at her. She still had her nose buried in her book. _I think she's more recognizable like this than without one. If she ever goes missing, this is the image they need to run in the_ Prophet. He suppressed an ironic snort when he realized that _technically_ she was missing, as was he.

" _Hogwarts: A History_?"he asked, one eyebrow cocked in question and amusement.

Hermione simply nodded from behind the book after taking a sip out of her mug.

"You do know that you won't be required to pass any bloody tests this year, right? What with you being a fugitive and all," he told her.

Hermione lowered the tome enough to peer at him with a sarcastic expression. "Lack of testing is no reason to endure a lack of education," she countered.

Draco stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded. "I think they may be the single most Hermione Granger-ish thing that's ever come out of your Muggle-born mouth," he said finally. Hermione glared at him for a moment before carefully placing a jagged shred of parchment in the book to mark her place and dropping it down on the table with a resounding thud that shook the whole thing and made coffee slosh over the lips of their mugs.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she snapped.

Draco's brows drew together in confusion. "What do you mean, 'what do I want'?" he asked. After all, he'd been wondering the same about her for a week.

"I mean," she said slowly, "I would think you'd like to get out of your… _cell_ every now and then, yet you insist on continually insulting the one person willing to do that for you."

"It wasn't meant as an insult," he muttered, and he realized when he said it that it was true. Once again he'd not only not said something rude or cruel to her – save the Muggle-born thing, which let's be honest, was substantially more polite wording than was his norm – he'd never even thought to do so.

Hermione cupped her steaming mug in both of her hands, holding it up close to her lips and considering him over the rim. A tiny smile started to pull at the corner of her mouth. "Fair enough," she said at last. "I suppose it is true that only I would consider such things at times such as these." And then, bizarrely, a full-on grin spread across her face.

What was even more bizarre was the small grin he noticed stretching his own lips in return. He hastily put his signature smirk back in place and dropped his gaze to his meal. Lumpy gray mush. Again. Joy.

"So," he said around a bite of food, "where are Potty and the Weasel off to again? And don't say 'out', for Merlin's sake," he added quickly as her mouth opened to answer.

Hermione snapped it closed again, thought for a moment, and then said, "Elsewhere."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. Then mumbled quietly, "Smart ass."

The two were quiet for several long minutes while they ate in an oddly comfortable silence. "There are some things that need to be done, some things we need to have, to end this war," she said at length. "Otherwise it'll never truly be over."

Draco was a bit shocked. He hadn't expected her to answer him at all, much less with an answer of some worth. Why would she tell him that? Didn't she know he'd repeat everything he'd heard when he finally managed to make it home? That is, _if_ he made it home. If he _chose_ to go home.

He cleared his throat. "Oh? What kind of things?" he asked nonchalantly.

Hermione snorted not so delicately. "Not a chance, Malfoy. Not a chance." She stood and cleared their breakfast things as she had the day before, stacking the dishes back in their proper places before turning to him and saying, "Well, are you coming or not?"

Draco decided that it was quite annoying to be continually taken off guard. "Coming?"  
he asked.

"Yes," she said impatiently. "I'd rather like to get out of this blasted tent already, and I don't particularly feel like waiting around for you all morning."

Draco nodded slightly, still rather thrown off balance, and followed her out into the bright morning sunlight. He stopped and tipped his head back, closing his eyes and breathing in the crisp air deeply. He was a spoiled rich boy – there really was no denying that, not that he wanted to – but as much as he loved his creature comforts, he'd found a peace and comforting simplicity in the fresh air as of late that he'd never appreciated as a child. The two walked slowly around the perimeter of the protective enclosure several times over, neither talking. After quite some time had passed and at some unspoken marker they resumed the same spots in front of the tent they had each occupied the morning previous. For a long time they continued to sit in silence, watching the forest around them and the creatures that inhabited it. At least an hour had passed since they'd taken their seats, two probably since breakfast, before that silence was finally broken.

"Why are you doing this, Granger?" Draco asked quietly.

Hermione glanced in his direction. He had his face lifted toward the sun and his eyes closed, soaking in the day. The bright sunlight bounced off of his blonde hair making it appear almost blindingly white. He'd rolled the cuffs of his shirt up once, and the edge of his Dark Mark was just visible underneath the left one. "Mmm… Bit of a distracted habit, I suppose," she said.

Draco's brows drew together in confusion, and he rolled his head to the side to look at her, noticing for the first time how terribly pale and exhausted she looked. Had she looked that way at breakfast? No, surely the walk is what had exhausted her. Bloody Gryffindor, pushing her limits. Not that he cared. Draco followed her gaze to the ground. There at her feet was a rather substantial pile of shredded up leaves. He gave a sort of sniff-laugh and said, "That's not what I was talking about."

"I know." She sighed. "The truth is, I don't really know, Malfoy. I just know you let Harry and Ron out of that cellar, and that's what saved our lives. I don't know why you did. Honestly I don't think you know why you did it, but you did. There's no sense in arguing with me about it. You won't change my mind." She sat up straighter and waited until he met her eyes and said, "If I came to the conclusion that you saved us on purpose, they would have by now, too. If I'd have left you there You-Know-Who would have killed you in his rage before you had a chance to plead your case. Even if you can't admit that you did it, you have to know the thought will have crossed his mind, and you'd pay with your life for that accusation against you."

Eventually Draco nodded his agreement. She was right; he'd have been as good as dead. He'd already worked that out, of course. That was what had caused his panic attack yesterday. He just hadn't realized she'd puzzled it out herself, much less while they were still at the manor. "Alright," he said, "so that explains why you took me away from there. I presumably saved your life, in your mind, so you presumably saved mine. Why am I still here then? Why not leave me in some Muggle village and Apparate away with the Dimwitted Duo?" This is the question that had truly been plaguing him from the moment he'd realized they truly hadn't brought him along as some sort of tool.

"Oh, well that's simple," she replied breezily with a wave of her hand. "I can't very well coax the good out of you if you're not here, now can I?"

Draco bristled. "There you go with that 'good' shite again. As if you know the first damn thing about me."

"There is something there, deep, deep, _deep_ down. I know it," she said firmly.

"You know, you're right. As a matter of fact, you've convinced me to fight alongside Potter. How about giving me my wand back so I can start doing my part?"

Hermione snorted. "Oh, very convincing, Malfoy. The last thing I'll be doing is letting you anywhere near a wand so you can Apparate back home to mummy and daddy and tell your leader whatever you've picked up about us from being out here."

"I probably couldn't go back home anyway." Draco snapped bitterly.

"What? You, the cunning Slytherin, couldn't come up with a way to convince your Dark Lord to welcome you back into his ranks with open arms?" she asked sarcastically. "You fear what he'd have to say?"

"Him. My father," he replied quietly. He'd picked up a stray branch and was meticulously peeling off its bark, layer by layer. He seemed rather lost in thought for a while. Then almost as if he were talking to himself he continued, "I can just see the look on his face. The disappointment. 'You let yourself be taken by a Mudblood! You've disappointed me again, Draco! You know damn well disappointments don't go unpunished!'" The words had felt pulled from him. Draco's eyes were unfocused, his mouth twisted into a disgusted scowl, his breath coming faster as he imagined his father welcoming him home.

Hermione blanched. "Malfoy… What has he done to you?" she whispered.

Draco's head snapped up at the sound of her voice and his cheeks flushed when he realized what all he'd said aloud. _Why the bloody fuck did I tell her all of that?!_ Shutters quickly closed over his gray eyes as he spat, "Mind your damn business."

"Malfoy…." Hermione started, her voice laced with concern, but Draco had leapt to his feet and stormed into the tent, wanting to escape her questions, escape her damned pity. He wanted to escape _her_ and all of the fucked up shit that had come along with her since she and her stupid friends had turned his entire bloody life upside down. A dark rage began to burn in his veins – his father's legacy – warm and familiar, nothing like the incomprehensible feelings he'd dealt with as of late. And he welcomed it.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione waited several minutes before she followed him, giving him time to cool down. What he'd let slip had shocked her. She'd never even suspected. Who would? Draco was a spoiled prat and the apple of his mother's and father's eye. At least that's what everyone had always been lead to believe. Was it possible that the elder Malfoy was not, in fact, the gloating, doting father he'd always appeared? Did he, behind closed doors, actually abuse Draco? He must. What else could his statement have meant? The thought made her blood run cold and her chest tighten painfully with grief for him. The boy truly had never stood a chance…

When she entered the tent a full five minutes after Malfoy, she found him sitting on the floor slightly in front of the table and chairs. She walked slowly over to him and eased down to sit, careful to give him his space. "Does he hit you?" she asked softly.

"Of course," he responded smoothly. "Where else do you think I learned the techniques I use when carrying out the Dark Lord's orders and obtaining information?" He looked her in the eye. "It's called leading by example. If, however, you're under some misguided impression that I'm some abused little puppy, you're sorely mistaken."

"Malfoy, if he hurts you—"

"My father has done what was necessary to teach and mold me, nothing more."

"Malfoy," she said firmly. "This isn't okay. How long has this been going on? Since you were a child? It's no wonder you think and act the way you do. But whatever he's shown you isn't the way things have to be. Whatever that monster—"

"Do not speak ill of my father!"

"You don't have to be like him! You don't have to live with the things he does to you! You have good in you, Malfoy, I know it, but you can't let him and the things he does smother it!" Hermione shouted.

"When are you going to realize, Mudblood?" he taunted. "There's nothing 'good' in me. I am exactly what your friends think I am. Vile. Evil. And I like it." He whispered the last line with a terrible smile, grey eyes glinting dangerously. "I don't know why everyone thinks you're so fucking smart. You can't even see a man for what he really is."

Hermione simply looked at him coolly, unfazed. "I don't believe you, Malfoy."

Draco spat an oath. "Damn it, woman! What _exactly_ is it going to take to convince you?"

"Why does it matter to you so much that I _am_ convinced?" she retorted.

Malfoy's smile was slow, calculating, dangerous. "Because," he said softly, "like I said, I like it. I _don't_ like that you and even your pathetic little friends see me as something else. You see me as good." He said the last word as if it were a curse. "They think I'm weak. I'm neither of those things. I'm Draco fucking Malfoy. I am neither of those things."

Hermione's gaze never wavered. She stared him in the eye unflinching through his short speech and responded only with, "I don't belie-"

Fast as lighting, Malfoy leapt from his spot on the tent floor, landed in front of her, and crushed his mouth to hers. There was only time for her eyes to widen in complete shock and her mouth to let out a startled gasp. He flung her down on her back, and her head hit the floor with a thick _thunk_ causing her to see stars. Quicker than her eyes or brain could register he ripped a scrap of fabric from the hem of her shirt, threw her arms over her head, and bound her wrists to a leg of the small breakfast table. She never even had time to consider getting her wand, much less make a grab for it, and Draco simply removed it from her pocket and tossed it aside. His lips slammed back down on hers roughly, bruising, biting, bleeding. All reason went out the figurative window, and it was as if she were observing the scene as a bystander would. Rather than make the decision to respond, she simply watched as she did so. Her lips parted for his and her back arched, pressing her body against his. She heard the low moan escape her throat but didn't even question it. All logic, all sense was knocked out of her the moment he'd touched her.

He sat up abruptly, straddling her, and she made a small sound of protest. In a swift motion he ripped what remained of her shirt straight down the middle revealing her skin and pink bra underneath. "Wait… Slow... Slow down," she gasped. She looked up to his face, and hatred and need were all she saw there. The malice in his eyes had reached a degree she'd never before seen in him nor believed him capable of. It was enough to snap her back into herself. "Stop," she said shakily.

His hands never faltered in their urgency. He popped the button clean off of her jeans and yanked her zipper down, causing her panic to begin to set in. "Stop it!" she yelled, but he didn't. She bucked underneath him and thrashed about wildly screaming all the while, but it did not deter him. He stood on his knees pinning each of her legs beneath his own. He obviously weighed more than one would guess because for all she tried to throw him off of her he never even lost his balance. He had her Muggle jeans pulled down to her knees now revealing the knickers that matched her bra. Her fear was absolute. She was blind with it. _Think!_ She slid her tied hands down to the base of the table leg and yanked as hard as she could. By some miracle the motion caused the leg to lift slightly, and she was able to slip her bindings underneath it.

Hands still above her head, she brought them down in a single fist, hard, connecting with Draco's nose. Had she not been so incredibly petrified, the sight of the blood immediately pouring from him would have made her proud and slightly smug at her abilities. "Ahh!" he yelped, his hands flying up to cup the injured cartilage. The pain caused a momentary distraction, and Hermione bucked her body and rolled with every ounce of strength she possessed, successfully throwing him off of her. She scrambled across the floor to where her wand lie and whipped around with it clenched in both hands to point it at his chest. He was still in a heap on the floor and pinching the bridge of his nose to try to staunch the bleeding. "I think you broke my damn nose, you bitch!" he hollered.

Hermione didn't speak. She didn't move. She never let her glare or her wand waver. " _Pellucidio Incarcerous_ ," she said and was proud when her voice didn't crack or quiver.

Malfoy grinned a terrifying grin, blood from his nose running down his chin and giving him the appearance of a vampire. "That's right, Mudblood. That fear in your eyes, in your blood, in your very soul? That's exactly the reaction you should have to me. That's exactly what I am. Ready to drop your illusions yet, princess?"

Hermione didn't answer him. She simply sat down in her chair and pointed her wand at her torn clothes saying, " _Reparo_."

"Shame," Malfoy said as her clothes righted themselves. "I must admit, you wouldn't be half bad to look at if you weren't so damn filthy."

" _Silencio_ ," she said, and Malfoy smirked.

Ever so calmly Hermione fixed herself a glass of water. She sat at the table for a few minutes sipping on it and reading a page of her book. She was determined to prove to him she was unfazed by what was (she hoped) the fake show he'd put on. She had to admit, it didn't feel fake. It felt terrifying. Horrifying. Cruel and ugly. But she wasn't giving up, not yet, and for one simple reason.

He'd tossed her wand aside.

She finished her glass of water, said, "I'll have my nap now," and strode purposefully over to her bed, back and shoulders straight. As she laid down she silently cast a _Muffliato_ around her.

She tried not to let her body shake with her sobs.


	8. Chapter 8

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 8:**

Hermione woke from her fitful half-sleep the instant she heard the faint Pop! outside of the tent that she knew signaled Harry and Ron's return. She rolled over swiftly to face Malfoy across the room where he sat staring at her. He was still covered in blood.

" _Episkey! Tergeo!_ " she said hastily. Malfoy gasped and clutched his nose as it popped back into place and the blood disappeared from his face and clothes. He tried to meet Hermione's solid, cool stare, but he was the first to break eye contact. It felt like a small victory to her.

She turned her head as Harry and Ron eased through the tent entrance, the former supporting the latter's weight by the arm slung around his shoulders.

Hermione was instantly on Ron's other side and helping Harry lead him to a chair. "What happened?" she asked, concern etched into her face.

"It's nothing, 'Mione. I'm fine," Ron tried to assure her.

"You most certainly are not fine, Ron! What happened?" she demanded in a tone that made it clear resistance was futile.

"I just tripped, that's all. Someone was passing just a bit too close to where we were, so we started backing up a few steps," Ron started.

"Yeah, and graceful here forgot to tie his trainers properly. He tripped over the laces and twisted his ankle," Harry finished. All three turned when they heard a snort from behind them. " _Muffliato!_ " they said in unison. Malfoy rolled his eyes and then narrowed them in confusion at Harry. Hermione ignored him.

"Were you seen? The cloak. Did it fall off?" she asked.

"Yeah, it did," Harry said. "Ron was seen, but I wasn't. It all happened so fast. He was falling backward, and the cloak fell off, and the woman was turning her head toward the noise, and before he even hit the ground Ron cast a Disillusionment Charm on me. He was brilliant," he said, smiling down at his best friend.

"Yeah, brilliant," Ron laughed. "Brilliantly clumsy, maybe. Harry Apparated us out of there faster than you could believe, Hermione. Your nag- erm, insistence that we take turns leading when Apparating apparently paid off."

Hermione sighed with relief. "Thank Merlin," she said. "Here, let me see if I can fix that ankle." She knelt down in front of him and pointed her wand at his ankle saying " _Episkey!_ " for the second and, hopefully, last time that day.

Ron rolled his ankle. He looked up and smiled shyly at her, his eyes soft. "Thanks, 'Mione," he said. Hermione heard in the two little words what he didn't have to say. _I'm sorry._

"Of course," she said. _I forgive you._ He held his arms out to her, and she hugged him tightly. "I'm just glad you're both safe."

"Well," Harry said, "I'm going to go stand watch for a bit, make sure we weren't followed. Care to join me, Hermione?"

"Sure," she answered as Ron set to digging through their meager food supplies for something to eat. Harry held the tent entrance open for her and then sat down in the spot she had occupied just hours before, leaving her to take Malfoy's. Harry eyed the pile of shredded leaves in front of him and the stripped twigs across the entranceway in front of her, but he simply raised one brow for a moment and didn't say anything about it.

"Are _you_ okay?" Harry asked her.

Hermione tried to look innocent though all she felt was guilt. She wasn't even exactly sure what about. "Me? Yes, of course. Why?"

Harry gestured at her face. "Your eyes are red and puffy like you've been crying."

_Damn._ She'd forgotten to fix herself up, and of course Harry had noticed. "Oh, that. Yes, I believe it's my allergies acting up. My eyes are itchy as well," she lied.

Harry nodded his head. "Your allergies causing your mouth to bruise and bleed, too?"

Hermione hesitated then sighed. "It's nothing. I'm all right, Harry."

"You're letting him out. Malfoy. When we're gone, you let him out of the cell." It wasn't really a question, so Hermione decided she didn't technically have to answer. She simply stared ahead into the woods.

The two were quiet for several long minutes. Harry sighed. "I don't know why you brought him here, Hermione. I can't begin to really understand, but I do trust you. You know that, right?"

Hermione nodded but still didn't meet his eyes.

Harry cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable about what he wanted to say next. "And you can always trust me, too. Did you… I mean have you ever… Were you…" He groaned loudly in frustration.

"Just spit it out, Harry," Hermione snapped, not sure exactly where he was going with this but afraid she may have a clue.

Harry took a deep breath. "Hermione, do you have feelings for Malfoy?"

Hermione whirled around to face him, eyes wide with shock. "What?!"

"It's okay if you do. I mean, well, not really. It's completely mental and totally fucked up and confusing, but I won't be mad or anything. D-did you have… a thing or something? Is that why you brought him?" Harry's eyes widened as if he'd just realized something. "Is that why you kept trying to convince me he wasn't a Death Eater last year? Because you… were secretly involved?"

"No!" she screeched. "Harry, don't be thick! Malfoy and I have never had any kind of 'thing', unless you consider me punching him in the nose in third year a 'thing'. And I tried to get you to stop obsessing over him potentially being a Death Eater because I honestly didn't think You-Know-Who would make him one, not because I had some secret crush on him," she scoffed. "Honestly, do you even know me?" She met his eyes and tried not to fidget under his questioning gaze. She couldn't stop the blush that crept up her neck and cheeks when she unwillingly thought of Malfoy's attack earlier that day and her mindless initial response to him.

Harry didn't miss it. He narrowed his eyes but only nodded, deciding not to push for the time being. "We're going to have to decide whether or not we'll be going back to Diagon Alley to watch Gringotts again. Honestly, I don't feel like we're near ready to infiltrate yet, and you're certainly not healthy enough," he said, effectively and thankfully changing the subject.

"Who was she? The woman who saw Ron. Did you recognize her?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. Maybe? I've never seen her before, for sure, but I would swear she's Padma and Parvati's mum. She looked just like them."

"Well that's good, isn't it? Better her than someone more likely to join You-Know-Who," she reasoned.

"I suppose," he agreed. "She didn't look comfortable being there at all. I'd guess she wouldn't be likely to contact a Death Eater just to tell him Ron was in Diagon Alley, assuming she even recognized him." He stood and brushed the dirt from his trousers. "I'll talk to him, make sure he's comfortable going back, but as long as he's okay with it, I really don't see why we wouldn't. I'm positive no one else saw us." He held a hand out to pull Hermione to her feet, but instead of letting her go he pulled her into a fierce hug. Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, grateful for the comfort and familiarity. "I love you, Hermione. You're my best friend. I'm here if you need anything, alright?"

"I know. I love you, too, Harry." They parted and went back into the tent where Ron was sitting at the table slowly munching on a bag of crisps and reading the book Hermione had left there that morning. "Really? You must be joking! We go on the run, and now you decide to open a textbook?" she joked.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Trust me, it's not my first choice, but someone deemed my Quidditch magazines 'not useful' and decided not to pack them," he grumbled.

"Yeah, well," Harry said with a grin, "you should just be glad she didn't decide to surprise you and go digging in your room for them later. I'm sure you wouldn't particularly want Hermione discovering any of the _other_ magazines you have in your—"

"Oi!" Ron shouted, face turning beet-red while Harry's mischievous grin widened and Hermione doubled over with laughter at the look of embarrassed disbelief on the redhead's face. Once she started, she couldn't seem to stop, and she plopped down right where she was on the floor and clutched at her sides as she shook with unsuppressed mirth. It was contagious, and before they knew it her two friends were rolling right along with her. A moment of youthful bliss in the middle of old men's war.

Finally, she began to sober up, still gasping for breath and spontaneously letting out a giggle. She glanced to the side as she wiped her streaming eyes, and Malfoy was staring at her. He looked…. confused? Surprised? Bewildered? Or maybe something else… Hermione couldn't tell, and at the moment she really didn't care. She was in too good of a mood, something she needed desperately and that she also knew would fade all too quickly as it was.

She heaved herself up off of the floor. "Come on," she said, still smiling and rummaging in her beaded bag and pulling out a board. "How about you two play some wizard's chess, and I'll get something started for dinner?" And laughing and talking all the while, holding on to that warm feeling of simplicity for as long as possible, they did just that.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Draco lay on his back in his clear prison cell and stared up at the ceiling of the tent, watching the eerie shadows the dying candlelight threw against its canvas walls. When he was a child he'd loved to watch the candlelight's movement in his room, seeing shapes of animals and trees and such in the shadows as he fell asleep. Most nights, anyway. Other nights the shadows seemed sinister and scary. Those were the nights he had something to feel guilty about, some wrong he'd done that he'd yet to rectify. Like the time when he was nine and he'd stolen his mother's wand to play with and misplaced it. She'd asked if he'd took it, and he'd denied it, naming one of the house elves as the culprit. His mother had given the elf a sock immediately, and the creature had wailed and begged at her feet for mercy. The shadows were unfriendly for that night and two more until he'd finally come clean and told his mother the truth, though she'd already figured out as much when she'd found her wand. After the guilt was gone, the shadows were pleasant and comforting again.

Tonight the shadows were sinister. They twisted and curled and slithered around him like serpents ready to strangle the life out of him quickly and quietly. He shut his eyes to block them out, but that only made the tightness building in his chest that much worse. With a frustrated groan he sat up, running his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair and, recognizing the signs of an approaching panic attack, began slowing his breaths.

It was ridiculous, this feeling of guilt. The only times in his life he'd ever felt guilty had been in accordance with something he'd lied to his mother about or something hurtful he'd said to her in a typical teenage fit. So why was this damn-near crippling guilt bearing down on him now? He didn't give a shit about the Mudblood. He didn't owe her anything.

Okay, he may actually owe her a life debt for removing him from the manor before the Dark Lord showed up, but that was debatable and not at all the point. Besides, it's not like he had been trying to kill her. He wasn't really even trying to… He wouldn't even think the words. He'd never have done it, not to any woman, Mudblood or not. On more than one occasion he'd been labeled weak and a pussy for not participating in the violation of women (and even more nauseatingly, very young girls) during raids. That was one time the terms didn't faze him in the slightest. The ones who participated were pigs, and he felt no shame for not being like them in that aspect.

No, he'd only intended on scaring her, which is exactly what he'd done. She'd pissed him off with her insistence that he could be "good" and "change". What the fuck did she know? He was just like his father who was just like his father, just who he was raised to be. Even if he had some desire to change that – _which I don't_ , he stubbornly argued with himself – it didn't matter. People don't just change. There are some things there's just no coming back from. Draco was positive he fell into that category, for better or worse.

He'd wanted her to fear him. He'd wanted to prove to her he was who he said he was. He'd wanted her to understand and just stop pushing.

Now he just wanted her hands softly on his shoulders while she distracted him with some random babble to ease him through the growing tightness in his chest. **_Why?!_** When had that happened? How had that happened? _Why_ had that happened? What was wrong with him? Why had her presence at the manor turned everything upside down? What was going on with him?

Draco didn't know. He couldn't even begin to fathom whatever it was that had changed things so abruptly and dramatically. All he knew was as soon as Potter and Weasley left in the morning, he was apparently going to have to fucking apologize to Hermione Granger, of all people.

oOoOoOoOo

He didn't even pretend to be asleep this time while the other two men readied themselves to leave for the day the next morning. He sat with his knees drawn up, forearms resting on them with his hands dangling, and watched Hermione as she piddled about here and there, packing Potter's rucksack and fussing with the infamous cloak as she neatly unfolded it and secured it in his grip. Weasley, in turn, glared at him steadily, but Draco paid him no mind. The freckle-faced git leaned over to Potter just before they were leaving and whispered something in his ear, never taking his eyes off of Draco. Potter threw him a quick and irritated glance over his shoulder before shaking his head and whispering back to his friend. The red-head's scowl deepened, but he nodded. Draco smirked at him.

As soon as Hermione sent them on their way with their hands full of what appeared to be several wrapped sandwiches or pastries, she set about making breakfast at the little table. Draco sat quietly and watched her work, her hair flying and wand prodding various contents sporadically. Before they'd woke, he'd scooted up to sit with the tips of his toes just grazing the barrier that kept him safely tucked away from the others. As she waved her wand here and there over the breakfast makings, Draco couldn't help wondering if, perhaps, she'd dropped his wall in the process. He knew it was ridiculous, but he had to check. He eased his right foot forward just a few millimeters, and it met resistance. Of course it did. Had he really expected anything else?

He waited until she was seated at the table with her coffee mug tucked close to her chest as if she was trying to pull the warmth from it. The delicious smell of baked goods had filled the tent as she'd prepared their breakfast, and Draco was shocked and pleased when, instead of yet another bowl of mush, she'd levitated a jam filled danish into his cell. (Without a word to him or a glance in his direction, of course.) He didn't know where it had come from - Potter and Weasley raided a bakery on a supply run, maybe? - and he certainly didn't care. Part of him wanted to engulf the thing in one bite right then and there, but he didn't. If he was going to get out of this cell again, he was going to need this apology to seem sincere, and appearing to have lost his appetite until he'd said his piece would help with the sincerity. _I haven't though. It's just an act_ , he insisted to himself, then wondered why he was trying to convince himself in the first place.

He waited until she'd taken a few sips of her coffee, giving her time to get the feel-good caffeine high started. He'd composed a short speech and repeated it over and over like a mantra inside his head in the hours he'd lain awake before the others had woken.

_Granger, I would like to apologize for my behaviour yesterday afternoon. It was rude and terrible and completely uncalled for, and I am infinitely embarrassed by my actions. I should never have frightened you like that, and I vow not to do so again. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

If his father were ever to hear him speak those words to a Mudblood… He shuddered at the thought. His father wasn't here, though, and that apology was his only hope of a ticket out of this cell. _And out of your guilt_ , his subconscious whispered. He mentally shot his subconscious a rude hand gesture.

Draco sat up as straight as he could on the floor and cleared his throat. "Granger," he started. She turned her head to look at him with those knowing, wise, and unfathomably kind, albeit guarded brown eyes, and suddenly Draco didn't remember he even had a speech, much less the words to it. "I'm sor- I'm sorry," he stuttered. "For yesterday. For trying to scare you. I wou- I wouldn't have... I mean I'd never... I'm sorry. I was only trying to frighten you. Truly. I didn't want to- I mean I wasn't going to- I just… I was trying to make you understand, really. There's no redemption story to be had here. There's nothing good in me, Granger," he said almost desperately. "Though, I'm sure you've realized by now. I've made my choices." He saw in his mind's eye the memory of her lying on the old and beautiful rug he'd sprawled across so many times as a child, her arm gushing blood ( _the same color as mine when it had spilled on the same rug while I took the Mark_ ) and her screams of agony piercing the air. That had been just a handful of days ago, still so new and fresh that her physical wounds hadn't even healed yet, much less her emotional ones, and she'd suffered yet another attack yesterday, this time at his hands. After she'd done what she thought was the right thing by trying to save his life. After he'd had such a strong reaction to her suffering that he'd betrayed his family and his leader to give her the slim chance of an escape. And then he'd caused her more pain. "I've made my choices," he repeated, and though he didn't notice the slight rasp in his voice, she did. "I am what I am. You should really just give up on me now," he said softly, and he wasn't even surprised when his ever-so-loud-and-persistent traitorous subconscious whispered, _But please don't_.

She stared at him for several long moments, and meeting her gaze without flinching was one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. After some time, she waved her wand in his direction, and his heart leapt before he noticed the cup of black coffee heading in his direction. It landed neatly in front of him, and Hermione turned back to look at her plate and flick idly through the book at her elbow. Draco swallowed against the dryness and tightness in his throat. _Well, that's a start_ , he thought as he picked up the mug and sipped at the strong liquid. He never took his eyes off of her as he drained his drink and ate his breakfast, watching how she held herself rigidly, almost as if she had some protective shield wrapping around her and holding her upright, keeping her from harm of the emotional and mental sort.

After half an hour or so, Hermione began methodically cleaning and putting away her dishes. When everything was in it's correct place, she walked purposefully to the tent entrance and out the flap without so much as a glance in his direction, which was basically what he'd expected. When, less than a minute later, she'd flung the tent-flap back open and pointed her wand at him with an annoyed and exasperated huff and caused the foot Draco still had propped against the barrier to smack to the floor, the leap of excitement and pure happiness in his chest was as baffling as it was expected.

Draco stood slowly so as not to have any risk of startling her, and he waited until she jerked her head in a "come on" motion before casually walking toward her, being sure to keep his distance as she watched him warily. He set off leading the way along the same path they had walked for three days in a row now, only this time Hermione stayed a handful of paces behind him and he could practically feel the wand that was pointed at his back. She wasn't going to let her guard down. _Good. You never should have, you too-brave-and-smart-for-your-own-good witch_ , he thought.

Draco's steps faltered momentarily. _Wow. Now I'm mentally paying compliments to Granger?_ He sighed quietly. _Just go with it. Nothing makes sense anymore anyway_ , he thought resignedly.

They'd made several laps when Draco stopped and turned to her. She was pale and shaky, just as he knew she would be, but she gripped her wand all the tighter where she had it casually lifted toward him, though her arm hung at her side. "You need to rest," he said, and this time he managed to not even question himself. "You're pushing yourself too bloody hard, and you'll never heal that way." Hermione's eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. Draco pointed at what he was considering "her spot" and said, "Sit." Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline briefly before she narrowed her eyes at him, obviously trying to figure out what he was playing at. Eyes never leaving hers, Draco slowly eased himself down to sit in "his spot" and held his hands up as if to say _I'm not a threat_ , which was kind of ridiculous, he knew. He could see her debating with herself about whether or not this was some sort of trap, but in the end her exhaustion won out, and she took her seat and leaned back against the post with a half sigh, half moan.

Draco watched as she breathed in the cool air deeply with her eyes closed against the bright morning sun and wondered. He wondered why he suddenly out of absolutely nowhere had this random instinct that screamed at him "PROTECT HER" anytime she was in harm's way. He wondered why and how his subconscious had come to view her as someone to keep safe while in his mind and heart she was what she'd always been: a Mudblood, someone to be discarded. Or was she? Was that still how he saw her? He didn't know. Everything he thought he knew was all twisted and knotted up with this new instinct that, try as he might, he couldn't fight.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked with her eyes still shut.

"How do you know I am?"

"I can feel it." She pulled her head up and looked at him. "Why are you staring at me?"

_Because you're beautiful_ , he thought.

_Wait, what?_ No, she wasn't. Her hair was ridiculous, her eyes dull, her build gangly and awkward. Only… No, that wasn't right. She hadn't changed, not really, in the last year. She looked the exact same, and yet while he'd found her wholly unattractive and even funny looking ever since he'd known her - a sentiment he'd noticed the vast majority of the boys in the castle had NOT agreed with for some years, oddly enough - he now felt like that wasn't quite right either. As he looked at her now, he not only realized that he did, indeed, find her beautiful, but his memory told him he always had. But that didn't make sense. He hadn't. On more than one occasion he'd made a point to state all of her flaws, made a point to state that she was ugly and truly meant it, and yet it was like two separate memories were coexisting side by side. He drudged up the memory of her coming down the stairs for the Yule Ball back in fourth year. All the girls had seethed with jealousy and all the boys' eyes had widened in amazement, but when Draco had turned to look at her he'd seen nothing but… plain. Sure, she hadn't been as hideous as she usually was, but she certainly wasn't pretty. He could remember it clearly, and yet it was like there was a second picture of her beside that memory, and in it she was stunning, absolutely breathtaking. How could he clearly remember two completely different views, two completely different perceptions, two completely different feelings?

"Malfoy."

Draco shook his head slightly and filed away his thoughts for further exploration later. "I'm just trying to figure out why you let me out again," he said, and it wasn't a lie. He had been wondering that.

"So am I," she grumbled, and he saw a blush creep up her neck. He wondered why and if it had anything to do with the day before (which it undoubtedly did), and for the first time, he let himself truly think about it, about the details. About the truth of them.

The truth was he'd been angry. He'd wanted to scare her. He'd wanted to have the upper hand. He'd wanted her to _know_ that he wasn't good, without a doubt. That was the truth.

The truth was also that he'd wanted her to be right. He'd wanted the words she'd given him. He'd wanted to taste the lips that had spoken such hope to him, such concern for him.

The truth was once he had, he'd hated it, hated her. Hated how he didn't hate it at all. Hated that he'd begun to lose himself in the kiss, that his thoughts strayed momentarily from wanting to threaten to just _wanting_.

The truth was when she'd returned the kiss, when she'd pressed her body against his, he'd hated himself more than anything. He'd hated that he'd forgotten what he was doing. He'd hated that he'd dared to touch her, dared to harm her, dared to frighten her. Hated that he'd taken that anger and hate out on her by continuing his attack, by continuing to frighten her. Hated that he cared.

The truth was he wanted to know _why_ she'd returned that kiss. What had she been thinking? What was she thinking now?

"That's probably the most emotion I've ever seen cross your face, and I don't even know what it means," she said, snapping him back to the moment and watching him intently.

"Neither do I," he admitted honestly.

After a moment she said, "I know you only apologized in the hope that I'd let you out of that cell again."

Draco snorted, and Hermione shot him a surprised look at the sound. "I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Know that," he answered. "Then again, I don't know much of anything any more, now do I?" he said more to himself.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said stubbornly. Draco turned toward her where she sat up straighter now, her chin slightly raised, her hair moving in the slight breeze, her dark eyes flashing in defiance. _She really is beautiful_ , he marveled, still unnerved by this revelation.

"I know, but you should be," he whispered, and even he could hear the sadness in his voice.

"I know that's what you were hoping for," she said, but her tone had lost its edge. "I know you want me to be scared of you. Somehow that makes you even less fearsome."

Draco thought vaguely that he should be offended by that, but he wasn't. On the contrary, he was oddly relieved. Because more and more he was realizing, he didn't truly want her to fear him. He _wanted to want_ her to fear him. He wanted to understand how and why that had all changed, too, but that didn't seem like it was going to happen anytime soon.

"You were right," he said, because why shouldn't he? "About my father," he explained. "The first time was on my fifth birthday. Mother and Father had taken me into Diagon Alley to shop for presents. I remember picking out new robes at Madame Malkin's, getting a new toy broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies, some new Exploding Snap cards at Gambol and Jape's. It had been a great day. We decided to stop in at Florean Fortescue's for a cup of ice cream before going to pick me out a pet at the menagerie. Father had spotted some Ministry worker or another that he wanted to say hello to, and I drifted out in front of the shop while my parents talked. There was a boy my age sitting at one of the patio tables, and when he saw me he waved me over. He asked me if I was a wizard, first thing. I said I was without question, and then I asked, 'Aren't you?'

"'I don't know,' he said. 'My brother found out two days ago that he is - that's why we're here- so hopefully I will be too! We came to Diagon Alley the first chance we got. It's amazing, isn't it?' I didn't know why he would think he could be anything _other_ than a wizard, but I didn't think too much about it. I was five, and I'd never played with another child before. Ever. So I agreed that it was, indeed, amazing, sat down with him, and we talked and laughed and took scoops out of one another's ice cream cups like regular little boys. After a while my parents came out of the shop, and I heard my mother gasp. My father yanked me out of my chair, knocking my ice cream to the ground, and he said, 'Draco! What are you doing?!' I didn't understand why he was so upset until he yelled, 'He's a Muggle!'

"I was shocked. I'd heard of Muggles before, of course, but I'd always pictured them to be… I don't know. More like the monsters under the bed, I suppose. I tried to argue, saying his brother was a wizard. 'A Mudblood,' Father corrected. By then the boy's parents and brother had come up, but they just looked confused, like we were speaking another language. My parents ushered me out and down to the pet store without another word about it. They bought me the raven I picked out and a few other things throughout the shops in town, and that was that.

"We got back to the manor, and I hadn't stepped more than a foot into the drawing room when Father spun around and backhanded me. I wasn't prepared, and it knocked me to the ground. I remember my mother screamed once, but then my father told her to be quiet, and I guess something in his voice told her she should. 'We do not mingle with Muggles or their spawn,' he said simply, and then he went to the lounge for a glass of firewhisky. It had been the best day, but it had turned into the worst. After that, Father reconnected with Crabbe and Goyle's parents so that I could make some 'suitable friends'."

Draco stared at the ground at his feet for several minutes after telling his story, waiting for Hermione to say something. When he finally looked up at her, the expression on her face was mostly just contemplative. Finally she asked, "Was he a wizard? The boy."

Draco shook his head. "No. No, he wasn't."

She fell silent again for a while. Then, "What did you name your raven?"

Draco smirked. "Marvin, if you can believe it. Who names a bird Marvin?"

Hermione laughed at that, and Draco's smirk bloomed into a small smile that faded all too quickly when she asked, "Do you still have Marvin?"

"No," he said flatly. "He's dead."

Hermione seemed to hear more in the three words and asked slowly, "How did he die?"

"My father snapped his neck when I forgot to latch the cage properly and he used the bathroom in the house." He said it with as little feeling as he could, but the memory still brought a lump of sadness and fear to his throat after all these years.

They lapsed into silence once more, listening to the birds in the trees around them and the small woodland creatures scampering through the brush without saying a word until lunch time when Hermione summoned some cheese sandwiches she'd already made for them. Draco glanced at her from time to time as she chewed thoughtfully on her food, and he wondered what was going through her head. Finally she said, "I don't know why. I know I shouldn't, absolutely should not, but for some reason I believe you." She glared at him accusingly. "Why? Why do I believe you?"

Draco raised a brow in confusion. "About… what? The bird?" he asked, bewildered.

"No," she snapped irritably. "About your damn apology, that's what. Either there's something wrong with me and I've suddenly gone daft, or there's something wrong with you and you've suddenly sprouted some form of a conscience."

He tried to fight a smirk. "I thought you brought me along because you were convinced I had a conscience deep, deep down, Granger?"

Hermione huffed. "Yes, well, I did think so. I do. It's just… I don't know," she sighed. "When someone physically attacks you and then spews this sincere sounding apology, forgive me but it can be a bit hard to believe. Or it should be. And yet I find myself believing it."

Draco hung his head as shame and guilt crept up on him again. "Definitely something wrong with me," he mumbled. He looked up and saw her staring at him questioningly. "Have you ever…" _What? Felt like you were losing your mind?_ He sighed.

"Have I ever what?" she asked.

"Never mind. You shouldn't believe me. You shouldn't keep trying to find some speck of decency in me. I've been trying to tell you that. Just give it up, Granger."

Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you're warring with yourself, which means I'm at least a little bit right."

Draco just shook his head sadly. He didn't deserve this unwarranted faith in him, in who she thought he maybe could be.

"That," she said, pointing at him. "I think that's why I believe you. No one can fake such despair and confusion."

"But someone can fake enough anger and heinous intent to slam someone down on the ground and rip half of her clothes off?" he asked sarcastically.

She pursed her lips. "People often lash out in anger when they're afraid."

"And what about you? Aren't you afraid of anything? Oh, no, of course not. You're all Gryffindor, all bravery. A hero with a saving people complex. Don't you have a shred of self preservation in you?" he demanded desperately.

"What about you?" she countered. "You're a Slytherin. You're supposed to be completely about self preservation, yet you put your life on the line to help us escape your manor." Her eyes held his with a challenge in them, daring him to deny it again. He opened his mouth, and then shut it with a sigh. She sat up a bit straighter in triumph. "You did do it, didn't you Malfoy?" she asked quietly.

Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he whispered finally. "It doesn't change anything."

Hermione's lips lifted in a tiny smile. "Oh, Draco," she said, and the shock of his given name on her lips stunned him and sent a thrill of _something_ to the pit of his stomach. "Don't you see? It's changed everything."


End file.
